I am staring out of the window
Looking at the rain pouring down, slow
I am not moaning for death, like a widow
I am just a match-stick, thin scarecrow
My face feels the cool autumn wind blows
When I stand in the middle of the meadow
I know my heart is made of hays, hollow
Deep down my heart is not always shallow
The clouds are as dark as the colour of a crow
While I am patiently waiting for my shadow
Wherever you go, how far, I will just follow
Because the feelings to be with you, slowly grow...
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