This magic you feel

Will be gone like a wheel,

down a mountain!

But is it really so bad

As you’re still high, though sad?

You can create 

Magic so great

Little Tingeling

Now let me hear ya sing!

Or dance,

take a chance!

Young tears will fall,

but you wount.

I promise, dear boy

She threathts ya like a toy.

But at least you can play, so say:

Hey, I’m colour, your too boring grey!

You wount be in her heart

But aint that a breathing start?

Girl.

If you can learn how to swim

You can leave without him

Boy.

Show her the door

if she acts too poor.

Future us coming

and you better be ready.

Don’t let anyone

take your rolling time of stone!

Skrevet på den rullende bussen av Helene Dalland; forbipolene.