In the long afternoons
when I'm just alone,
at my place, with no one but my soul;
I think hard to answer stuff,
stuff that are useless to be told.

In the long afternoons,
that are dimmer than of the dusk.
But I'm active then and I just suspect my luck.
For something strange that happens to me,
It leaves me alone with a shock.

In the long afternoons,
for the useless things I think,
apocalypse, fame and my thoughts that link
to an outer world unknown to everyone.
Rainbow sheep and how the world shall sink.

In the long afternoons,
for the tragedic songs I sing.
The sighs I swear like the death of a king.
I daydream about stupid li'l things
but it's you that I think more about, and that thought's not leaving.