A year seems long
and it quickly goes by
when it has left,
it goes so far away
and another year passes by
and when it has gone
it runs away together
with the previous one
together with other five
twenty
thirty
they fly away,
they blow up into the clouds.

And there,
there you hear a noise
which is always the same
since Earth's existence
as if it were the country town's band
which played throughout the alley
and left it behind.

You hear it aloud when it passes by
while you can't as it fades away.
But something remains:
do you know what?

You keep its memory
you keep its tune
as if it were
a lost music
a forgotten sound
that it has seemed alive
brighter than crystal
within a dream
which you cannot tell anyone
when you wake up
neither to yourself
as it is made
of nothing.