You ask if you can buy some piece of tat.
You ask how far will go this winding road.
You ask to where this raging river flows.
You ask for the stars, the moon and the sun;
All day you make demands,
But you never float on the weightlessness of a melody,
You never breathe the clean air of the prisoners’ freedom,
Never die a little during a string quartet,
And never leave Earth's pull at the end of the Ninth.
One day, beauty’s gift may settle on your hand,
But for that you need to listen, not demand.