When I was a child,
And it was those summer days,
I used to run outside,
Into the green of the grass,
With this special mixture,
To blow bubbles into the sky.

All that mattered was the bubbles,
How big you could get them,
And the art of bursting them.
Each bubble was important,
The ones you didn’t die,
Flew away into the sky,
Oh, so high.

These bubble were filled with enjoyment,
And that innocent carefree lifestyle,
Each bubble had a part of you in it,
And when they finally burst,
A part of you went with it.