My capital’s a pair of hands plus a pair of eyes,
a real true word receiving from a pessimist,
My pain’s cinder, either…
Oh these my foggy ways.
Ow my young hands,
my head with black hair and the half of mine in trouble.
Sometimes I was fed up, indeed I collapsed,
dived in deepness and was sick of shallowness.
If you summed me up, I’d be thirty nice years.
I’ve arrived at the intentions of a patient dervish.
The long way of destiny can’t end.
It can’t be gone through by only one mount.
Push forward the coward child hiding in your inner self.
Don’t think of your permanency at all as you’ve been waiting here.
Look, how many people’s life flags have been on flagpoles.
This voice is mine, listen, listen, listen…
I’m the bandit to cut the ways of these inappropriate progress
I am sure what I know, the sponsor of what I have done,
the farewell to those which departed from me, and the chief for those coming to me.
I tried but it didn’t prove well that my efforts couldn’t reach to the end.
I am the neighbour of frustration and an insane staring roads.