The wind is telling me a story,
where it’s coming from,
it crossed the land the forest,
and a lot of busy men.

I like to be it’s eye,
I like to share it’s way,
I like to touch the things,
it touches on it’s way,
like the wind, like the wind.

The wind is sneaking through the fields,
blowing at the sea,
the wind is crying, in the night,
rattling at my door.

I like to be it’s eye,
I like to share it’s way,
I like to touch the things,
it touches on it’s way,
like the wind, like the wind.