Looking at the bees Flying low Under the trees Over the snow And the thoughts you believe Are thoughts of your own And the words you forgive Are already gone A day goes in a blink And a week goes so fast And the things that you seek They are now in the past Looking at the wheels As they spin passing by Over the hills Under the sky ♪ Now I don't think I know What goes on in this world But one thing I know And It's not what I'm told That the skin of the tree Like your heart and you soul And the things you believe To me make no sense at all ♪ In your mind a poem On your cheek a rhyme In the tree a weasel Waiting for the night-time From dust you came And to dust you shall return Under the trees