As life emerges, as a dancing spirit,
flowing with the wind that He created.
One realizes, life has never been a fact,
just ropes on the air, made with leather of gods.
A drop of hope brought the air, nothing on a betrayal storm.
One wants to go, one wants to wait.
Only one fate for both.
A secret refused to be seen or
a certainty that doesn't sleep.
A recurring whisper that reminds you that
you're here to fade.
They all will cry when they see the threads,
but then, just opt to climb or stay.
Persence has turn a doubt.
As death interferes, as a beginning process,
all the words you said will start to be erased.
You realized, life has never been a moment,
just facts you created to invent a sense.
Souls are just regards, wich die with us.
Words that will be burned by time.
Ash vessel buried by oblivion,
with our purpose, died.