To what do I owe the pleasure of time?
Now that I do not know what is mine.
Outside amongst the trees,
I listen to the breeze.
And the birds singing their song,
I fear I have been here too long.
The seasons change, but the scenery doesnāt.
In this garden, where time wasnāt,
Years, months, minutes or days,
Iām the only one here who pays.
In fact, I am the only one here at all.
Stuck inside, the...