If love finds its way, then when’s ours? Here on the field, filled with various flowers. Yet nothing held me thrilled, Considering you’re not in the field. Faith still sparks within me, Yearning just your presence to see. Still here on the field, sitting on the bench, Even though I’m drenched. I wouldn’t move even a single inch, Waiting for you to winch. From time to time, I desire to be beside you, Like glue that’s stuck on you.