I would rather be poor on Earth and rich in heavens of divine,
like the beggars on the streets,
I hide my spirit in the realms of time,
far away from the evil eye of the world.

Can the entire ocean
all be swallowed by my eyes.
If I make it to the moon,
will I then feel left behind.
Is there an end to the world,
that is decided by time.
Will I see beauty so great,
that I truly must go blind.
At the end of the last road,
will at least all colors rhyme.
I fear the war will not stop,
these enemies in my mind.