The wind blows on the other side of our street.
I can hear it, I can see it, but I cannot feel it. 
The wind blows on the other side of our street.
But on the odd-numbered side, not a single leaf rustling.

And that's the way life can go; right place, right time.
Sometimes feel there's no rhythm or rhyme; no rhythm, no rhyme.
Is change the only constant in this life? The only constant.
The essence of beauty is the inability to explain. 

The wind blows on the other side of our street. 
Our neighbour's weather vane starts to whistle and creak. 
The wind blows on the other side of our street.
The invisible river who came to teach.

And that's the way life can go; right place, right time. 
Is it profound? Is it a sign? Was it something divine?
Doesn't matter, just sit with closed eyes; sit there with closed eyes.
The essence of beauty is the inability to explain. 

The wind blows on the other side of our street.
There is beauty in the unexplained. 
The wind blows on the other side of our street.
No need to look for answers just admire the day.