All the withered flower crowns have fallen down on trodden ground,
among the garbage disarray of empty beers and cigarettes.
These are memories of drunken folks with tired eyes and weary legs.
Lets lift our heavy waving arms and jump high above the swarm of heads.
The band we like is playing now, but they're so far, we lay instead.
Forget the sheets and towels,
the grass and dirt can grace our skin.
The sound of the bass reverberates in our chests,
This is the best.
Our voices are hoarse from screaming loud and cheering on the gods on stage.
we forget our age, we forget our pride,
we exist as music groom and bride.
Escape all thoughts of work and school.
The grass is cool,
The beating sun has come burnt us all and gone away.
This pending night has come to chill our bones and remind us we have place to stay.
Let's sleep up now.
Tomorrow, who will we see play?
The final day, let us power through.
Make little histories into me and you.
Dreams and sky only leave our eyes,
when our feet go back to our real lives.
As it ends, she tells us it's sad.
Until this second, I didn't understand.
A festival is a fantasy world,
a dream we'd sleep for as long as our bodies could,
and now it's time to wake up and return.
