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My story, it's much older than the Roman Empire
as in truth written down by a liar when those soft whispers
undermine my well-being as I cannot conceive sleep
when noise is redundant in those sounds like a creep
What I really want is rest in Mother Earth's woomb
after I drink fresh rain and simply keep growing
as no tree can grow just like positivity is like-minded
with an up although there's sometimes a low....
Perhaps I think the sun is not the sun but a blanket
that drives out the cold and that's the complete truth
I was told by a liar whos feeling low took him higher
than those age-old streets of the Roman Empire
or the moon in that month with no real name,
so, maybe we just called it june.....
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