You are yourself not someone else
Do not decry, dare not deny
When asked or told you’re something less
Stand proud and say, I’m me.
The fresh cut grass, that summer scent
That smell of summer, Heaven sent
I used to squeeze it in my fingers
Shreds of green, its smell still lingers.
For love was a wonderful sight
And love was the hour of darkness
That came along in morning’s depths
And shared some spurious thoughts.
The rooftops of Italia’s Alps stand neatly in a row
And down below a river flows by a road that no-one knows,
Puffs of cloud look just like smoke as though the sky’s on fire,
They nestle upon these alpine peaks, growing ever higher.
We see this coarse or vile and give it other names
But when it gets right down to it, it’s all the bloody same
Did you blow off, or trump, the smell will let you know
Did you let one off or let one rip or did you let one go