It nothing but a debris
Under skies that die
and none is set free
as freedom is shy
and wont rebel for itself
it is so powerless
and sorry to say,
it is so less

And the love that runs down
the loves lips goes around,
in aimlessly in city streets
where it meets
the memory of all done
but that time is gone
and we start anew
even in that time comes the memory
and we love to the degree
we always do
but then again,
why is it so few?

Less, very less
so few in life,
all reckless
but tiresome, and the multitude
is so great the tune
becomes unheard
because all is so lacked
and fire is backed
which burns hope of more
as it always tore
the limits in dreams
but why so less,
so less it seems