In The Distance Someone Is Singing.

A Child Who Does Not Play Is Not A Child, But The Man Who Doesn't Play Has Lost Forever The Child Who Lived In Him And Who He Will Miss Terribly.

I Want To Do With You What The Spring Does With The Cherry Trees.

Give Me Silence, Water, Hope Give Me Struggle, Iron, Volcanoes.

And What Has Become Of It, Where Is That Onetime Love? Now It Is The Grave Of A Bird, A Drop Of Black Quartz, A Chunk Of Wood Eroded By The Rain.

Don't Leave Me, Even For An Hour, Because Then The Little Drops Of Anguish Will All Run Together, The Smoke That Roams Looking For A Home Will Drift Into Me, Choking My Lost Heart.