I asked the grass,'Why are you so green?'
I asked the birds,'Why do you sing?'
I asked the trees,'Why sway in the breeze?'
I would ask him, if he loved me.

I asked the ground,'Why tremble and quake?'
I asked the walls,'Why don't you break?'
I asked the iron,'Why do you rust?'
I could have asked him, is it me he trusts?

I asked the tables,'Why don't you just give way?'
I asked the wind from the fan,'Why not go out and play?'
I asked the clock,'Just stop ticking?'
I should have asked him what was he thinking.

I asked the bed,'Why don't you find some comfort?'
I asked the cabinet,'Why hold the shirts?'
I asked the picture frames,'Do you have your own memories?'
I wanted to ask him, if ours was a happy story.

I would want his love, and also his trust.
I want to know if, like iron, our friendship would rust.
All my curiosity, and all I want to know,
All leads back to him, as I love him so.