There’s a pot of yogurt drifting in the blue, Spinning through silence, above me and you. No wars to fight, no flags to wave, Just tiny seeds of peace we crave.
Yogurt in the sky, floating by, Dreaming of a world where no children cry. No borders, no lies, no reasons to hate, Only spoons of kindness on every plate.
He left the fridge on a Tuesday morn’, Escaping the noise where love is torn. From satellites, he hums a tune, A lullaby beneath the moon.
Yogurt in the sky, floating by, Dreaming of a world where no mothers sigh. No orders, no kings, no need for a gun, Just hands held open under the sun.
Imagine if peace wasn’t written in treaties, but stirred gently… like cream into strawberries. Imagine a world where we digest love, not fear.
Yogurt in the sky, don’t say goodbye, Teach us how to breathe, not how to die. No conquest, no pride, no tears to unlearn, Just the Earth spinning soft, and stars that return.
