Behind everything is a hidden world
In which every blade of grass is dreaming
We don't dare wake them up
It would be like knowing what everyone thought at all times - it would be hell.
But still, it is nice to peek.
Some of us peek by cheating with alcohol, known as the poor person's mysticism,
And some drunks hear the grasses sing.
But cheating only gets us so far, then the door closes behind us, shutting us out.
Some of us fall in love with the hidden world and seek it out.
But we find it can't be found, and we must wait for our lover to come to us.
And then what a suprise we get
As the sunrise whispers in our ear, and we roll in the grass in ecstasy.