In thirty years,
when I look back,
what will my mind have seen?

Will I be old and unforgiving?
Will I be young and free?

Could working days and long cold nights
be my history?

Will fire rest inside my heart,
and love inside my soul?

Will every man I'd ever met remember what I told?

Or is my life a boring book,
just wishing I'd been bold?

Oh future.  You, so unexpected.
Don't speak in such clichés.  

My life will be a burning star,
composed of blinding rays.

A hearth of endless sunrises,
to brighten up the days.  

Not all may notice how I've gleamed,
but that just goes to say,
that even all the brightest stars,
should shine from far away.