We are few, we are drops.
We’re that old picture
supposed to be lost.
See the lights and the ghosts,
they look pretty confused
once you’ve lost.

Let them talk, let them laugh.
Let them write lines and lies,
let them chukkle.
But I’m free not to agree.
I’m free, it’s my ideal.

You will feel very lonely
as soon as you have the start of an idea. But one day it might appear
that you’re free, it’s my ideal.
One day, it might appear
that you’re the sun, the moon,
for somebody, you’re the sea.
You’re free.