Sitting on a wooden bench and reading a lazy book is almost forgotten
Gazing at the stars and opening your mouth in bewilderment has become old school
Listening to the distant drummers at the temple is laughed upon
Watching the distant lights and trying to figure out a pattern among them is retarded
Feeling the gentle winter breeze and smelling the odorless roads is almost non-existent
Waiting for the lights to go out and watching the naked sky in amazement is almost forgotten
Marveling at the old songs from the radio is now only found in books
Doing nothing and penning down a poem Might almost seem historic
If leaving behind all of these is modern, sophisticated and wise
Mother nature, I'm happy to be archaic, simpleton and foolish.
Gazing at the stars and opening your mouth in bewilderment has become old school
Listening to the distant drummers at the temple is laughed upon
Watching the distant lights and trying to figure out a pattern among them is retarded
Feeling the gentle winter breeze and smelling the odorless roads is almost non-existent
Waiting for the lights to go out and watching the naked sky in amazement is almost forgotten
Marveling at the old songs from the radio is now only found in books
Doing nothing and penning down a poem Might almost seem historic
If leaving behind all of these is modern, sophisticated and wise
Mother nature, I'm happy to be archaic, simpleton and foolish.
