My memories are lost, in a mire of clay and firmament
My flesh decaying, dying, from lack of hope and grace
Why should I wonder about the cause, the end of it all
Love is a lost and fragile thing and nostalgic sentiment
When this life has ended, if fate and destiny embrace
Because I am not perfect, no, I am composed of flaw
I've so little to hope for by now, the end is permanent
Where can I go, what can I do, but wait for the end
