Оригинален текст
music by Morbid Death
lyric by Ricardo Santos
Fields of flowers
Crops of sorrow
Spreading fresh air
To the ones of tomorrow
That gentle and innocent look
Expressing the sadness
Involving that young soul
Into the deepest madness
Little one, free your mind
Let the wind blow trough
your weak soul
You can continue crawling
Look behind that window
Whisper gently, whisper...
Little one, free your hope
Open your hand
So I can grab you
Keep on stretching your hand
So it could be possible to grab you