Papers rustle down the street, eddy into corners and blow to the world
people run walk argue get cross with the rubbish around their feet and shout
Why do they do this? - have they nothing talking in their head?
Quietly on the windowsill the cacti grows.
Walk and run like cattle to slaughter dash do and cram your days
Slowly the cacti is growing if you look.
I'm glad I can't hear your world of turmoil
I hear in my head sounds I want to hear and can now hear all that is life itself
That slow growing of all