If my hands weren't there, like i saw in the stream nOf the drawings been made on a full colour screen nIf they weren't to be found, then what else could i be? nnIf your hands weren't there, like i saw in my dreams nAnd the poets we made, had all gone, disappeared, nThen what else, then what else could i be? nnIf your hands an my hands strolled together around nIf they were to make friends we'd be possibly up nTo scape from this world, from this no past land. nnIf i looked in the windows while walking pass through nIf i stared at the willows with my seven black truths nIf my eyes were to see what belongs to your mind nnIf you'd like, keep perceiving what lies on my back nAnd your eyes will shine through the glass of my wine nAnd the windows, the willows, the pillows, and your mouth. nnIf your hands & my hands strolled together around nIf they were to make friends we'd be possibly up nTo escape from this world, from this no past land.