A nightingale is twittering in the hearth if you have ears
If you disturb the peace then the police get very fierce
And in the creases of your blanket
There lurks a face, if you have eyes
The jailor shoots you on the chase
If you're a jailbird flying from that place
(Good luck to him that tries)

The perfume of the East lives in a tree
And giant mountains reach to touch the sky
Like mother's lips
A breeze will touch your hand
A dish will taste to you like children's sand
The worries of this world are crushing you
And yet our earth is such a friendly star
Come tell me what your problems are?
You wish to be rich?
Well, isn't that what you are?