Not to think of anything,
About the alienated past,
And the endless future,
And about shadow of tomorrow.

Everything is known,
Endless.

Everything is so arranged,
The silence is the same,
With a moment that doesn't last,
And a story that isn't broken yet,
With a unnecessary moment,
And wind of today and a little,
Tomorrow.

Everything is over,
And nothing will be,
The same,
Every moment is waiting,
For us to see its end,
It's sitting barefoot,
With a future,
Which didn't occur.