Why does everything move forward? That’s what I want to know.
Do you stop because of fear, or are they doubts as you grow?
Why does everything continue? Without light, you can’t see.
Sometimes I feel that the morning has ceased to be.

I must walk carefully through this vast, abandoned hall,
and I repeat my steps towards the end because I’ve given no more to them.

Why does everything keep moving? Is it that I move with everything too?
Maybe with little breath, it’s what I must do.
Why is everything spinning? Perhaps it’s a strange dance,
where no one hears you, and only you have a chance.

I turn back just to witness how you take my hands from behind,
and in my ear, you whisper that once again, you’ll leave me behind.

And it’s on these nights that I can’t stop asking,
beneath this moon, impossible to admire,
I return home, and my eyes start to close,
Could it be that everything moves forward, or am I afraid to turn?