Every day, we die a little
Every hours, our hearts run out of love
Then we're left with an empty shell
that used to be our dreams
A generation will come
and see the remanences of a being
that used to be our soul
with nothing left
but the scattering of our words,
blown in the wind
across all times.
our children's children will stand
over the ashes of our bodies
Here once was a dream
where now there is none...