There's someone running toward you. Day and night trying to find you. Through torrents and heat, deserts and streets, but will he recognize you? Hardly anything grows here, yet streams run with sweetness here, but is it enough that I think of you with mixed feelings. I think of you sometimes. I do. Is it enough to set the dish of milk at night for you? Cause I do. If I could have my my, I would leave, take myself. There's someone running toward you, trying to find you, but will he recognize you?