Two roads in a Yellow wood,
I have never decided, as I should
Many roads as a man drive by
Nothing palpable staying behind.
Too many nights with a rat in my stomach
Too many days with the hands trembling away
The love I feel for the sea
Is similar of what I see in thee.
The destiny or origin of my daughters
Remains uncertain, they abandoned me.
Two little boys seem to me mine
And I, incapable of treating them well
Keep walking and thinking while all falls down to pieces of glass
Moreover, the cold river is calling me, calling me again as guest
One day I should fall by the normality of facts,
In front or backwards, to the side or losing the inside.
One rise and another fall, one breath another expire.
Tragedy does not arise from a yellow road,
Tragedy is the work of that fate we use to make.
Work brings people closer to heaven,
Closer to someone someone should be,
Nevertheless blamelessness is not the case of me.