Lemon drops are falling on the chimney tops
And I sit here waiting for the cry from above the sky,
I want to see men and women live and never die,
But my soul is as mortal as the body it cultivates.
I want to see that lemon tree,
That makes the bird come and sit and sip the lemon drops from lemons
Hanging and giving life to all those who desire and want.
I want to make the life come into every cave and every house,
Just imagine a bird fly above the mouse,
Carrying the lemon seeds, that lemon fruit perhaps will grow,
In place, there was no lemon ever before.
I might sit and wait for my soul to be,
And spring or summer turn my head into
The endless mettle of a jumpy man,
But I know there are streets where the road is paved and by its side,
There are plentiful of relatives to my lemon tree.
Every day and every night
I can feel the smell that smells so well,
That lemon flavor got out, and into the house, where I lay and read a book
That fills me with doubt.
Precious are moments that we don’t see, don’t feel but they are out,
And make us alive even when we don’t care that much really about.