Living

Not interested in money,From flower to flower,Flips, does she,In her life’s danceShe’s a conformist,Not a sinner or a spinner,Not even worriedAbout what’s for dinnerJust goes from day to day,Nonchalantly, freeHow lucky we would beIf our lives were as simpleAs the life of the Busy Bee.

And political men,Could not put the Empire,Together again.

With Rachmaninoff,I have his piano concertos,Playing in my head,They push me forward,Help me get ahead,Help me stay alive,In an ugly world,Of Love, deprived,I go around humming,The great melodies,All those that are near,Think I have lost my mindAnd therefore they fear,My ‘contagious desease’:To Love Music, ArtAnd Live as I please.

Sown together by imagination,No open seams,Constructing a perfect world,Where all get along,Where beauty and love reignFrom an imaginary throne,Certainly a poet’s dreamBut reality never follows,Their idealistic stream,So, therefore, regrettingTo say the truth,I end my silly song,Hoping, I am wrong.

Everything is semi-alive now,Memories still dying,But in a stronger chaotic fashion,More obscure but still alive,Hurting, hunting down the heartThat’s breakingHoping to return to lifeLike Snow White,But Fairy Tales never end wellIn real life,Even roses, cry their dew,Softly, remembering their prime,Before their final, Adieu.

That somebody cares,Alone in life’s oceans,The Wind, the commotionsThe tempests, the lighteningThe dangers, are clear,For life is not easySurrounded by quicksand,Emotions and motionsThe dangerous potionsOf those that come nearOnly for interest,Those that we fear,For malice is in themTheir ships are likePirates,That pillage, destroyTheir lives andTheir ships,Put in wrong, gear,It’s those that we fear!