I don't hunt, I won't, no more

Is there still a place in mind where the bluebird is a bluebird?
A place in the world where the moss covering the stones of a river make a beautiful picture of peace, harmony, and inner magic.
Where the sight of the falling leaves and the chirping sound of the timid wind invite me to smile and to play.
Is there a place still where a red bird is beautiful because of being red, where a canary is special for being yellow, and a bluebird a mystic creature for being iced colour?
A universe in which collecting acorns is the loveliest hobby for those moon-inviting evenings...

I'm too old to hang around, seeing in the ilussion a reality
Old enough to lose control, and stop the urge of knowing what's going on
Old to see the days passing by and the magic moments slipping by
For a minute of pleasure I've sacrificed billions of seconds of joy

Desire rules the world
Taking forms of toys, taking forms of drink
The desire of the flesh being the strongest one,
And yet being such a shitty one

The days the curves were curves of nurture and care are long gone,
Curves drive the mind to the extreme of the desire
Seeing things that do not exist, just for a minute of happiness
Looking in the flesh the answer to all problems

How many days lost because of this...
As creatures in the spring they hunt...
I don't hunt, I won't,  no more--
Uncleanliness of mind and body are filth


For he who searches in others happiness ends up seeing them as material objects.    Search for happiness brings unhappiness.     To use people is a reknown sport now...