When you were searching an answer in questions,
the end started near the beginning.
And you were still walking alone in the unbridled tempest.
Lesser the light, stronger was the urge to move in darkness.
Dirty landscape generated the brilliant stars,
Legs atrophied, frozen looks,
I was watching a strange phenomenon.
The spirit was drinking its own fountain.
Here is my toast to the march of time
Kids are refusing to write on dotted lines
Already the death was tasting the dust.
