Wish I could fly
Winds that are freezing
Touch the mount of my cheeks.
Sitting on a bushy tree
I see the white pigeon’s beak,
I see that blue sky,
And wish I could fly.
Winds that are freezing
Touch the mount of my cheeks.
Sitting on a bushy tree
I see the white pigeon’s beak,
I see that blue sky,
And wish I could fly.