I used to know, this old scarecrow, my joy and sorrow. My joy and sorrow. Cast along, between the forests, no longer sung by anyone. Sad, so sad. Sad, so sad. Beneath these branches, I once wrote such childish words for you. I held a dandelion, when summer burned the earth again. Sad, so sad. Sad, so sad. Sad, so sad. Sad, so sad. No longer sung by anyone. Sad, so sad. Sad, so sad. Sad, so sad. Sad, so sad. Sad, so sad. Sad, so sad. www.mooji.org
