My songs are like bees; they follow through the air
Some fragrant trace -- some memory -- of you
To hum around your shyness, eager for its hidden store
When the freshness of dawn droops in the sun
When in the noon the air hangs low with heaviness
And the forest is silent, my songs return home
Their languid wings dusted with gold
Some fragrant trace -- some memory -- of you
To hum around your shyness, eager for its hidden store
When the freshness of dawn droops in the sun
When in the noon the air hangs low with heaviness
And the forest is silent, my songs return home
Their languid wings dusted with gold
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