How many of those ,you can take to bed,
How so few of those, with whom you want to wake up...
And in the morning, while leaving,turn around,
And smile while wave goodbye,
And anxiously waiting for a news all day.
How many of those, with whom you simply live,
Arguing and talking, drinking coffee in the morning...
Someone you go with on weekend to sea,
And ,as expected - in happyness and grief
To be beside each other... While not in love...
How few of those, you want to dream together!
To watch how clouds swarming in the sky,
To write the words of love on virgin fallen snow,
And only think about one and only person...
And greater happyness not to wish for and not to know.
How few of those you can be in silence with,
Who understand you from unfinished words and half a glance,
To one, that you would give without a pity year after year,
And for the one, that you can, like a prize,
Take any pain and any execution...
This is how rigmarole winds it's way-
Easy encounters and painless break ups...
All because , To many of those you can take to bed.
And so few to wake up with.
There are so many, with whom you lie in bed,
There are so few, with whom you want to wake up...
And life spins us like a rigmarole,
Moving us like fortune-telling on the saucer.
We rush about: work , busyness, life...
Who wants to hear, still have to listen,
You only notice the bodies -on the run,
Stop, so you can see the soul.
We choose with our heart - according to our mind,
Sometime afraid to smile back ,when see a smile,
And only to that one we open our soul,
That we would like to wake up together...
