To all the strings of river I desire to be a tone
Of all the gutter's puddles (I desire to be) their bank
To antenna signal (I desire to be) the roof slope
And release all the rudders
At least a diver in the mug (I desire) to become
To catch my own little wavelet and fight it
To have a floater made of soap box
And ride down the bath tub without any tollgates
I sort of dance a little
I sing, I cry, I kiss
Seeking my beat vainly
I'm said to be adult and this is the world
When you are over thirty
And in the sink I desire to have a pool
In the saltcellars (I desire to have) the smell of lighthouses
Of the old school workbook blotting paper
(I desire to have) To build(t) a lifeboat
And to hide gracefully the whale in the palm
And the depth of the sea on plates' bottom
In the marine suit of pennies
Hit the right direction
I sort of dance a little
I sing, I cry, I kiss
Seeking my beat vainly
I'm said to be adult and this is the world
When you are over thirty
I sort of dance a little...
I sort of kiss a little...
I sort of cry a little...
I sort of sing a little...