Do you hear me wonder, Granny,
Now that I learn to sit in the moment silently,
Do you feel my blissful energy,
As I spread my wings, to rise quietly,
Moving the tallest mountains,
Turning each and every stone,
Stargazing, traveling across galaxies,
To try and reach your precious soul,
To feel your golden smile again,
Your radiant warmth surrounding me,
Wherever you are,
Wherever you may be,

Listen to the winds, Ask the oceans, And the fish in the sea, Ask the evening breeze, And the moon, And the stars, The hummingbirds, And the burgeoning trees, Ask the flowers…

Share your colors with me,
Stir in mine over the sky and the sea,
Share your colors with me,
Stir in mine over the sky and see,

A thousand shades up above,
From the deepest red hue,
Up to the most peaceful blue,
Shining the brightest love,

Painting a picture of me,
Next to this picture of you,
Painting a picture of you,
Within a picture of me.

Does a caterpillar ever knows,
He is to be a butterfly?

What an amazing morning it must be,
As the daily crawling stops,
Yet another cycle begins,
The first flaps, the joyful dancing.

Just like that, no waiting,
No expectations, just being,
We might as well be growing,
Our very own butterfly wings.

I will sing every song,
Will drink every wine,
I will walk the city streets,
And get lost every day,
I will have the sun shine on me,
I will stand smiling in the wettest rain,
And warm myself by the fire,
Watching the snowflakes dancing,
Listening to the howling winds,
Will embrace the sound of silence,
Enjoy every coffee,
Every morning,
Every night,
I will kiss,
I will love,
I will laugh,
I will make love,
I may cry some tears, too,
Taste the sweet,
As much as the sour,

And then,
I will do it again.

Où qu’il allait, Plic n’était jamais sans Ploc,
Ils n’avaient pas de fric, pas plus que de froc,
Marchant sans répit dans une ville sans repos,
Ils partagent un repas puis poursuivent repus,
Dans cette pluie qui fait plic,
Dans cette pluie qui fait ploc,
Une chaussure qui fait flic,
Une autre qui fait floc.

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