I've always loved those little creatures,
With light and tender, subtle features.
Sailing on a nothing, hanging in the void,
Following a sinusoid.
Up and down, up and down,
They cross the azure sky,
Even in the filthiest town,
They feed on abandoned rye.
Fleeting life of endless song,
Passing through the generations,
Not caring about how life is long,
Singing for the stone-deaf nations.
For they see the purpose and not just see,
Not just to dream - but to be.
To be the purpose, they sing out life
Not to forget to yearn, to strive.