[Verse] On Konte mountain sat Ion Klint low His geese were grazing in the valley below Their nibbling sang as the wind did blow Like wooden scissors cutting soft and slow [Verse 2] Feathers gleamed under the summer’s bright eye Grass bowed gently as if in shy reply Ion sat quiet watching clouds drift high While whispers of geese wove tales to the sky [Chorus] Oh Konte whispers carry on the breeze A symphony crafted by flocks with ease Each gentle snip a tune that won’t cease Singing sweet songs with the grazing geese [Verse 3] Hollow scissors played where the green grass spread Their wooden echoes hummed where Ion tread A mountain hymn from the valley bed By Ion’s flock Where melodies were fed [Bridge] The world stood still for moments unseen Above the geese where the earth sang serene And Ion smiled caught in life’s in-between Listening close to the scissor-cut scene [Verse 4] In the sun’s last light they wandered and ate While Ion watched dreaming hearts navigate Every tiny sound shaped a mystic state On Konte’s mount where soft rhythms create
