Sad is she,
Who does not open her eyes,
Who thinks with only facts,
Who believes with only figures.
Lonesome is he,
Who thinks of only his way,
Who only knows of his approach,
Who won’t listen to others.
Sad are they,
Who don’t believe past their eyes,
Who hears without listening,
Who only knows the simple matters.
Lonesome am I,
For not letting them be,
For bumping into the hornet’s nest,
For not being prepared for the aftereffects.
For they cannot understand,
Until they open their hearts.