O creature, whose eyes are withered
Your tears keep flowing
Without ever quenching your sorrow
O creator, who cultivates beauty
Be the reflection, be the echo of the sun
That will make your seed blossom
The past is forgotten as the page is turned
And the future blows the clouds away
Truth is written in the ink of dreams
The end of the story can be reshaped
And in the allegory of this time coming to an end
A bud of hope springs to life