Little oak tree
Hiking southwards pretty fast
Sick of all those winters you've lived through in the past
After all those years of standing still
You leave your meadow, run down your hill
Trying to find everlasting summer I guess you never will
You left your soil behind in search of vanity
Nothing you could find in cold reality
Now that you are back this place has
Nothing more to do with what you knew
Gone the place called home
Little pond
Longing for the sea
Tired of pondring and pondring endlessly
One day you waved, poured on your way and flew
But your water was way to few
To ever make your dreams come true
You've left your soil behind in search of satory
Nothing you could find in dry reality
Now that you are back this place has
Nothing more to do with what you knew
Gone the place called home
Gone the place called home
Gone the place called home
Gone the place called home
Little pillow
Lying on my bed
Waiting to carry the weight of my heavy head
Throughout all your life you've always tried
To lull me to sleep, but not tonight
Little pillow I'm not coming
Back
