Who knows if the moon's a balloon, coming out of a keen city in the sky filled with pretty people?
When skies are hanged and oceans drowned, the single secret will still be man
in the street of the sky night walks scattering poems
time is a tree (this life one leaf) but love is the sky and i am for you just so long and long enough
Who knows if the moon's / a balloon, coming out of a keen city / in the sky - filled with pretty people?
Because you aren't afraid to kiss the dirt (and consequently dare to climb the sky)