I struggle past the teaming streets, these endless years in this city loud,
Lie down weary, finally to sleep, and wait for you my familiar dreams,
The silent love of my mountain nights, set to the sound of a trickling brook,
The pines that sway, and the wind that whispers,
Yellow twinkles from faraway homes, shimmering past the valley deep,
Waking up to the sight of clouds, hanging patient inside my house,
But all I get is this city loud, and lonely days amidst familiar crowds.
