Afraid
I'm afraid to shout
Because the echo never dies
And they're still falling down,
The leaves

Like an expensive quill pen
With no ink
Winds of change
Are nothing but an empty phrase

No!
My windmills slowly turn to the beat
Of hope of the worst kind
Created by fear
Of not having one

And you say
"Open the curtains
and spit out the lemon"
They don't exist! Can't you see?
I'm sitting in my godforsaken oasis
under my tree

Afraid
I'm afraid to shout
Because the echo never dies
If I scrape the leaves
Will they stop falling?