If you could only see
what I've countlessly seen
Broken and shattered youth
looking for lost dreams
A basket of secrets I am
The blind observer is me
Forever meant to stand
in this field of orange trees
I was once visited by lovers
They wrote their names with blood
They swore to be forever
united in love as one
I listened to their complaints
Their tears watered me
I almost felt their pain
and their longing to be free
and I was the home of poets
where they could close their eyelids
and mumble love poems
while dreaming of their beloveds
Oh they even scarred me
Their engraved lines of verse
are still written upon me
and oblivious is the universe
So after all of these years
you ask me if I can feel
Apparently this human curse of agony
has also plagued me
Now I feel as if I'm
wiser than any man
though I didn't age with time
or travelled to the farthest lands
Now no one bothers to visit me
for the scented orange trees
which once swayed with the breeze
have lost all of their leaves
and the butterflies and pixies
that danced on different melodies
have run away from me
and left me to be abandoned
in the ruins of this garden
My only visitor is
the marching ants army
which childishly tickles me
what I've countlessly seen
Broken and shattered youth
looking for lost dreams
A basket of secrets I am
The blind observer is me
Forever meant to stand
in this field of orange trees
I was once visited by lovers
They wrote their names with blood
They swore to be forever
united in love as one
I listened to their complaints
Their tears watered me
I almost felt their pain
and their longing to be free
and I was the home of poets
where they could close their eyelids
and mumble love poems
while dreaming of their beloveds
Oh they even scarred me
Their engraved lines of verse
are still written upon me
and oblivious is the universe
So after all of these years
you ask me if I can feel
Apparently this human curse of agony
has also plagued me
Now I feel as if I'm
wiser than any man
though I didn't age with time
or travelled to the farthest lands
Now no one bothers to visit me
for the scented orange trees
which once swayed with the breeze
have lost all of their leaves
and the butterflies and pixies
that danced on different melodies
have run away from me
and left me to be abandoned
in the ruins of this garden
My only visitor is
the marching ants army
which childishly tickles me
