The apple of my eye

 

I’ll leave the city

Green freedom is what I seek

No cars, ships and planes

 

I feel so small there

I've been bottled up too much

Squeezed in by dust and noise

 

Where’s my wicker chair

The plop of fish in the stream?

Fuss I do not need

 

Goodbye towers grey

There’s a better place to be

To slacken my mind

 

I'm returning to

The apple of my eye and

In your bosom lay