Flowers bloomed all over the ground
Nothing but music created sound
A question seemed to have appeard for no real answer to be found

Can the world be as sweat and as neat as I want it to be?
Pink may not be as innocent to you as it is to me
May we really judge things that are in no right mind to be judged?

Silk might seem soft for you but to I like rubble
Notes might sound as sweet but unbearable to another


Nature seems joyfully sunny one day
The next, thunder for what we seem to think eternity
Isn't that what individual sanitiy and humanity is all about?

Aren't we, after all, nature?
Spontanious at all time?
We are part of a spontanious continuity


No need to question nor judge,
For we shall have no control over it,
Other than our own existence