We start to make things and then give up,

And break them for no reason —

Those things are always intangible,

And we don’t realise until we’ve lost them…


Don’t stop the hands

That push you forward;

See it through until the end…


Tied up by the thread of fate,

Unable to move,

Just stumbling around

In this silent world…

Even if you were here,

There’d be no reason for living.