i'm closing the curtains of the 3 sullen windows in this red sad livingroom
the sad dread sleepy broom
dragging across dustless shiny floorboard doom
alone and alone and alone again they cry
she's tired and too wired to accept the optimistic gloom or to again ask why

her cup runneth over
wetting everythign during slumber
she sits and stares and stares and sits
all day in sunshine whcih goes away in whiles

fold it up and pull it again
wrap it up and stick it again

where is this end...
they scream about?

que sera

and i sing the words of plenty
i try to show the means of twenty

i let it go to pay around
i drown myself within the sound

the rushing plains of i dont know
the longing pains of let it go

what will be will be
que sera is fucking me