Destiny is mute.
Soundless.
We create our own fate
Or we get carried away by it's currents.

Uncertain paths await for us.
Waiting to be transited.
While undying hands run against the past
And minutes turn into hours.

The clock is impatient.
It won't stop for anyone.
Keep walking, you passer-by
Or you'll get stuck in a memory.

There's not an end for everything.
There are things that are eternal.
Your hand in mine is timeless
Our joined hips are feral.