Under A Tree. Seguir história

I sit under a tree,

Feeling its breeze,

The breeze that take me to my old memories,

The breeze that takes me to my gold memories,

Those memories will always stay in a beautiful spot,

The memory of me first going to school,

The memory of me being savage and cool.

The memory of me punching a boy,

The memory of me playing with a toy.

Those memories are my golden things,

They’ll never fade away,

In my mind they’ll always ring.