This place calls me again
Cold winter fell asleep
The small path, the old house
And no wind to weep
  [bad word] plough on withered colours
Old and tired hinges creak
Warm rain feeds the forest
The wind remains weak
 
Are you the last one?
Take this trip with me
Let me take you to the beauty
I need to feel
The endless fantasy
Freedom of two
 
This place calls me again
Cold winter turned to spring
The golden summer fields
The peaceful green haven
 
The trees whisper your name
Over a withered creek
On wooden grain a broken chain
The wind remains weak
 
Restless and a bit hungry
Short of your uncharted energy
Are you the one who will create
The dyadic rebellion with me?