Who am I When we are not in front of the mirror Where am I If I am at the other end of the world But I know Its dream has nothing to do with me Who am I When we are not in front of the mirror Where am I If I am at the other end of the world But I know Its dream has nothing to do with me Tonight I Do Not KnowThe Number of That Highway From Iowa to Chicago On the edge of a great road A robin has died It has been dead for many years I do not know If it was during the wind Or before the wind But I know Its death has nothing to do with me But I know Its death has nothing to do with me When a huge car Drives through the valley The pod still holds its dream Its spring After another ten miles or so This car will be drenched by the rain It will be scrapped Fly another ten miles Your tears will be diluted by the rain Your damp wings Will surely dry But I know This flight has nothing to do with me But I know This flight has nothing to do with me But I know This flight has nothing to do with me One late night I gazed at The face of a strange woman And she was gazing at herself She pretended to be looking at A bowl full of white rice In white steam She was so sad she could hardly breathe We all know Something has passed forever A grain of rice fell to the ground But I know Its spring has nothing to do with me But I know Its spring has nothing to do with me The cat jumped down from the windowsill Shattering the mirror It had been crouching there For a whole spring It knew it was time to eat Who am I When we are not in front of the mirror Where am I If I am at the other end of the world But I know Its dream has nothing to do with me But I know Its dream has nothing to do with me But I know Its dream has nothing to do with me