Be it sight, sound, smell, or touch, There's something inside, that we need so much. The sight of a touch, or the scent of a sound, Or the strength of an oak, with roots, deep in the ground. The wonder of flowers, to be covered, And then to burst up, through tarmac, to the sun again, Or to fly to the sun, without burning a wing, To lie in a meadow, and hear the grass sing. To have all these things in our memories hoard, And to use them, to help us, to find the lost chord...
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Copy to Clipboard: Be it sight, sound, smell, or touch, There's something inside, that we need so much. The sight of a touch, or the scent of a sound, Or the strength of an oak, with roots, deep in the ground. The wonder of flowers, to be covered, And then to burst up, through tarmac, to the sun again, Or to fly to the sun, without burning a wing, To lie in a meadow, and hear the grass sing. To have all these things in our memories hoard, And to use them, to help us, to find the lost chord...
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