What do I do when life is like a toy train on an 8-track,
Going neither forward nor back?
What do I do when there's no time, nothing free,
To watch the leaves falling from the tree?
In savouring all these books, these treasures, these gold mines,
Did I somewhere forget to read between the lines?
In watching the world go by, in this quest for new things to find,
Did I not realize that I had gradually gone blind?
Why should I get used to getting things handed over on a plate,
When all I keep hearing is I make my own fate?
Why should I keep waiting for someone to hand me long rope,
When there is always the strength of my own hope?
Why are people bothered to find something to crow and croak at,
When all I need is a window, cool breeze and something to look at?