Winter, raindrops, summer, sunshine
Long queus at the café,
People waiting to go online
winter, autumn, summer, spring
Whatever season, they're all mine
Rain no longer pouring in the right season
Whoever wants to know,
God only knows the reason
Still do we dance from the days of old?
About our imaginary life,
Round and round shall we go
While d spring is green,
While the stream overflows
None has ever tasted the golden fruit
Till the golden new time comes
Many a tree shall spring from shoot
Many a blossom be withered at root
Many a times our songs be dumb
So does the great world spin from old?
Summer, winter, fire and cold?
Song that is sung, and tales that are told
Even as we breath, that folds and unfold
Nature itself be a poet
With I and strictly have a duet
Of the days of old in this golden age
Where every deeds does seem strange
