I am but a blade of grass and you may say the same. The world is too big for us to pass, but we are not to blame. I sometimes wonder where I may go; if I’m to be cut down or not. I wish for rain when I feel low, but where did the rain even start?
I would like to be the rain, up in the sky so high. Washing away at the stain that grass leaves behind. Washing away... Washing away... I want to give it a try
I can try and try with all my might But grass was not made to fly Well once it’s cut it may take flight But that I’m too scared to try
So I guess I will continue to grow, the only way that I know how. Though I do not know where I’ll go, hopefully I will not find out. I will grow with the river’s flow, is that not what life is about? Just staying right here while the winds blow, hoping I am not cut down.