[music by Morbid Death]

[lyric by Ricardo Santos]



Fields of flowers

Crops of sorrow

Spreading fresh air

To the ones of tomorrow



That gentle and innocent look

Expressing the sadness

Involving that young soul

Into the deepest madness



Little one, free your mind

Let the wind blow trough

your weak soul



You can continue crawling

Look behind that window

Whisper gently, whisper...



Little one, free your hope

Open your hand

So I can grab you



Keep on stretching your hand

So it could be possible to grab you