Passerby's Plight

Time is an infinite river pouring infinitely in the
sea,
you're only a passerby.

Rescue the last clean shirt,
this ugliness only increases.

There's an infinite distance,
it takes forever to pass this feeling.
It's vain to walk.

Stop trying to climb these mountains and to
escape these valleys.
You'll only slip away further.

The air weighs down on your shoulder,
darkness creeps in like a thief in the night,
sun sets, and you are now devoid of light.

Yes, there are keys,
but what use are keys if all locks are broken?

Memory is a sharp knife,
cutting open your heart.
To dream is to be free, but you'll eventually wake up.