For every one who hurries,
There’s a million who are still,
Resting, without worries,
By a valley, or a hill.
For every one who hurries,
There’s a million sleeping by,
Beneath clouds slowly moving
In a slow and cloudy sky.
For every one who hurries
There’s a million who are free,
Under grass where rain is falling,
On a mountain, or with me.
