A floating image on the irons of hope
Is it forged
In the sea of u200bu200bfading colors
The aging Alb on rugged rock
And before him the abyss
The trench of the World
A late thought in the withering leaves
Icy storm that scatters the leaves
One last beginning and end
The eternal rounding of time
A fleeting whisper, flat murmur
The verses flow into nothingness
And an old man who sings what he missed yesterday
Remains hopelessly lonely
And empty thoughts revolve around eternity
An eternal suffering, it ended never until today.

SOUMETTRE LES CORRECTIONS