Far behind, where the moon turns its back,
We dream till it becomes prohibited,
We set the sails and watch empty bottles
Swim through rivers, only the dead fish inhabited.

We wake with a scream that gets drowned,
In the rattle made by feet willing to just walk,
Engulfed by the depth of this tunnel,
Where voices fade like words written in chalk.

Hungry eyes watching backs laying in the luxury of their chairs,
Black clouds following every peacemaker,
As if we're doomed to breathe different airs,
Just a penalty for the damage we did to nature.

If it's true, every person is a product of his environment,
Then watch us burn with our hopes accelerating the fire,
And with only ruins surrounding everyone of us,
To exist is to be prisoned, so to die is what we shall aspire.