Rolling hills
As if they want to roll away from here
Dividing us from insanity
And their children
And the tree’s leaves
They want to see
Something beautiful
True as they’ll ever be
The shoes walking down the street
Clicking on the cobblestones
I want to fall into the ocean
Two hundred degrees below sea level
Far, far away
Stay there much longer than a week
Be smaller than I ever was
So no one could ever reach me
Men in the background
Sweating and trying not to faint
Chopping down trees
The spruce calls out in pain
Separating man from mankind.

Footsteps molded into the mud
on the rolling hills
The wind blows over
The grass bends south
And I, am standing there alone
Wherever I may end up
I do not care
I do not mind
Wherever I may up
Be it here
Or be it there
I’ll walk on the rolling hills
For as long as I want to
Not knowing where I’ll turn up
Or if I’ll ever be found
Farmers come with big lawn mowers
In overalls and a straw hat
cutting the grass,
The grass calls out in pain
Separating man from mankind.