In a field of broken flowers
i'm picking at my dreams
searching for the remnants of reality it seems
whilst somewhere, something stutters
and freefalls into view

It's you.

In a field of broken flowers
where the poppies petals lay
rejoicing in their brokeness
they turn from red to grey,
countless pieces of me mournful
passing silently away

In the greeness of her eyes.

Whilst somewhere, something stutters
in a chaste and mindful wind
sending fairies in their multitude
my paitient wishful kin
under blue sky and in olive fields

To find myself again.