Through a cold grey murk that is almost dark
I will watch your scooter pass through the gate
Fighting with melancholy. In the park
I'll observe the hopeful swings oscillate.
We will walk there, we will not take the car
Feeling your fingers' touch, your skipping heart
Slowly, I will become happy. You are.
To acquire happiness is an art.
Afterwards, sitting outside the cafe
Although we are clutched by an oozing mist
Our lives will seem like a holiday
I'll learn from you to be an optimist
There will be no rain on our parade
Of such small moments perfect days are made.
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