Tearing down my own hills
the white coloured cotton cloud
over the mountain starts to weep
the tears roll down the empty hills
water comes together in the wound
which grows deeper by the moment...
eventually the hills come down
the rest is flushed out into the sea
the cloud is laughing with pleasure
as the hills will never grow again...
new grass will grow on the ground
where once the hills protected me...
over the mountain starts to weep
the tears roll down the empty hills
water comes together in the wound
which grows deeper by the moment...
eventually the hills come down
the rest is flushed out into the sea
the cloud is laughing with pleasure
as the hills will never grow again...
new grass will grow on the ground
where once the hills protected me...