Mountain by the sky
I say we take all the bluebells and drink up the stream
We’ll disguise the apple blossom in our heads when we sleep
It won’t be anywhere near as dramatic as it seems but
Not one single green beetle will be left in the town
We’ll wait till the time where we can run away
Il find all the frogs and a cat for company
And bury the books in the good old-fashioned way
We’ll take any bird that’s still in the sky
In our stomachs there will be blooms and vines
And the last trees left in the city alive.
Soon the leaves will go red and start collecting at our knees
We can eat up all the conkers when the hunger sets in.
We’ll play music from old records, the times that got lost
We’ll leave all the lights on when its raining outside
Our sunflowers will be so tall they’ll grow out through the loft
And the wind chimes will forever be dancing in the storms.
When we eventually age like the crispy yellow leaves
That bleed down from our oldest willow trees
That bleed down from our oldest willow trees
They’ll discover us there like little sleeping bugs next to
piles of moth battered songs as the sun crawls back up.
(Artwork and poem by Kubi May)
