Slipping quietly from the womb,
Through rivers of thought into a tomb.
Hearing thy voice softly caressing,
Feeling thy hand slowly passing,
I walk from one edge to another,
Walking up straight, ignoring the places of power.

The thing which I counted as truth,
Is now has no meaning inside of our room,
The lies he kept whisper through the light glass,
Washed with the rain, no more the crest.
The pride is now swallowed, the slide moving on;
The better of ways didn't go wrong.

As the pathos of calmness fading away,
The wind of reaction leaving its paint.
Faces of men changing in moments,
Thoughts of tomorrow making me faint.
In the turmoil caused by their hate,
Changing the seasons, changing our fate.
The words may relax us, the deeds may give strength,
Yet the cogs of the future won't give us time to explain.

We may begin realize it right now,
But the time here is short and there's a lot to be done,
The question is: How?
The rivers of thought may sway us away,
Your hand may start beating, and turn me to prey,
Yet there is a tomorrow, a change in our way,
A chance for forgiveness, my way to repay.

In thought of tomorrow, in shadows of past,
I keep on walking, alone, with no rest.
Under the guidance of your wills and your ways,
There's little compassion to shed on their graves.
There's no time for mourning, they're gone but still here,
Their presence is calling.
We, here just to hear.
For future of ways, for the rest of our days, all left to do
is to listen,
And not to repent.