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Along the waters of Buttermere,
And over the rocks of Burgundy
No matter where you dwell
In Dorsetshire where people drink ale
Instead of beer
or in Tintartanshire where kids cry opals
instead of tears--
On the earth, on the Moon
under the frozen rocks of Mars
Where i hope to see you soon
in the colorful haze of Saturn
even on the blue surface of Uranus--
there is a hidden treasure
for which i take my pen
it's to my very pleasure
if you take the trouble
and read the lines with a double--
thus, I write of this simple little gift
which people call freedom.
A treasure which exists everywhere
what a pity! few people own it here
or there.
for Heaven's sake, tell me why
why on earth
a virgin child
is to be killed?
why on earth
the mothers (while cooking)
are to be killed?
tell me why
why on earth
a person owns other ones
why on earth
bloody wars should go on?
why on earth
people could go on
pretending to be happy
when a good father dies?
while his son is looking forward to his coming home,
alas, he does not,
poor child, he cries and cries!
i've tried and i'll try to do my best
to paint the colorful taste of freedom
like the polka dot chicks of the pink dove
in the nest.
all i could do is to tell someone,
who is kind
to the poor and the blind
to me and to you
whether living in shire, york, or
Peru.
He is the best and i am sure
he could do, he could do
while others ignore
He'll stop wars, stop fights,
He is my Lord, He is my God.
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