When I will be old, in my neighborhood
There will come a car with Time at its wheel
It shall maybe slow down but never stop for good
And as it drives by I will stare boldly,
No matter what I think, no matter what I feel
Because it will pass and never remain.
His hair neatly combed as he smiles coldly,
An immortal king looking upon its domain,
Immoral being, eternal seductor,
And when the rumble of the engine subsides,
When comes the final wave of this conductor,
Not even the moon shall command the tides
But I will stand there, in my neighborhood,
Where all my ancestors before me proudly stood.
“Write an untruth about yourself.”