Time passes by under the willow tree
Time passes by along with the ghastly southern wind
Time passes by over the weak shade of the poorly hut
Time passes by across the tiny soul.
Who knows where the destination is?
Who knows where needed to be stopped?
Who knows when to take a break?
Who knows when to measure the account?
Perhaps someone is still awake in the darkness of night
Perhaps someone is still painting a portrait on the stranded cloud
Perhaps someone is still trying to write a sad episode
Perhaps someone is still waiting for someone.