When I returned to my old house,
Nostalgia creeps in to arouse
A yearning for the days of old,
Of childish spats and antics, bold;
When peace prevailed across the land
Of lush green fields and grazing cows;
I will wait for you, yes I will,
Atop my favourite hill.
I gaze upon the old hill there,
Upon the hill slopes with parts bare;
Where brownish rooftops seem to hide
Among the treetops that abide;
The roads below wind gently and
Loud honks of car horns fill the air.
I will look for you, yes I will,
Atop my favourite hill.
Like sentries, lampposts queue in line
Beside the trees that grow so fine;
Inviting birds to have a rest,
Thick cables wait for their behest;
With crickets chirping as a band,
The only thing we lack is wine.
I will dance with you, yes I will,
Atop my favourite hill.
Where is the cool, swift-flowing stream
Where minnows frolic in my dream?
Where are the gorgeous butterflies
Which dance amongst the flowers, nice?
If I knew who is in command,
If I could lay my hands on him …….
I will cry with you, yes I will,
Atop my favourite hill
