Step back and look at all you've ever done;
You don't have to go back much, don't you?
No, you just erase one step and that's all,
Two or three little victories you gave up to.
The taste of conquest, the pain of losing,
They're useless, no one's going to remember;
You keep your diary, you record some movies,
It's futile, no one will study those stupid treasures.
As you force yourself to write
Those boring events of your life,
I sit beside you, whispering: "you'll be over,
and with you, your stupid ideas and writings".
Death sits at your other side, at your left,
And nods in agreement to all that I've said;
She's waiting patiently, waiting for you;
No one has a greater patience, not me, not you.