• I was running through a feild of wheat
    with not a care in the world.
    The sun on my face, the damp ground under my feet.
    I was 5, with not a care in the world.

    The wind ran brisk against my skin,
    it rolled my wavy hair.
    From the woods a whisper went,
    "You've not a care in the world."

    I enjoyed the sound of scurrying mice,
    with the woosh of the wind,
    and the best of my forest friends,
    all without a care in the world.

    I felt like a squirrel running fast and free.
    As a bird with wind under wing.
    It was before I could ever judge anything.
    All without a care in the world.

    If only I could go back to that time
    where innocence was bliss.
    The shinning star of happiness I once knew
    has long been gone by now.