Idioma orígen: Anglès Traduït per
Urunghai
Only a part of the field is sowed
nevertheless, setting off on another journey
Roaming the paths
Eyelids swollen
Scent of smoke
Song of a cicada
Losing sight of the steep hills far away
nevertheless, setting off on another journey
Lights turned out
Unfinished streets
You are home no longer
There's nothing but a cove here
Let's see what the children are playing
Let's see what the children are playing
A soft and gentle voice is calling
After the storm
During a ritual of trains, tracks and tunnels
Who will go and join you
on your journey to nowhere?
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