Select language to translate this lyric
Nothing weighs much in this time of fools and fools, no more than if a tired bush had lost a leaf. The leaves will fall, whoever shouts today tomorrow
the line that writes my life
no one will read
the pointer runs and never arrives
commands me according to a fixed plan
whatever I do, he goes and goes
and ticks: too late, too late, too late
the rain wears away the mountains
and washes them down the river into the sea
the grass grows in the ruins
gone and long ago
I only have a short time left
full of toil and complaint
of searching and wandering
on this earth
the hand runs and never arrives...
and our slumbering bones
the black darkness of death
the rose grove doesn't smell that
that whispers softly at the grave
your white body, like that delicate and soft
so precious, smooth and flawless
and it sinks into the realm of shadows
this fate awaits you too
the pointer runs and never arrives...