Who will you listen to when they declare,
they swirl all round you; they always know best,
and then try changing you, so then beware
upon those judges whim to fix your fate,
as though they can offer real security,
and then deceive you with maturity;
those voices will not guide, nor promise much,
you must explore the woodland’s path as such.
The wind that sways along the rolling fields,
the skylark’s song is floating down to earth,
a bird now hovers, afternoon now yields,
and horses gallop, meadows green with worth,
across the swaying grassland, hooves galore;
so listen here and catch the sound around,
to make your acts of crazy wisdom soar,
a passion beats itself upon the ground.
So dance to the drumbeat from the far shore,
and find out what you feel is wild at last,
so you can dive and see what you explore;
crestfallen, down the coalface, far below
becomes the faintest tap, a call beyond;
here you can listen, here you can respond.
If you can sense the current, learn to grow,
far from their voice that fails to correspond.
So catch the song, where judges lose their grasp,
then throw off wish to please powers around,
let go, no more of living dead for you;
so climb outside the coffin, screw and nail,
you soar above, beyond where skylarks flew,
and see expanse, a view that the gods do hail;
you live upright with vision firm and true,
and then you know what’s right and new for you