Γλώσσα προορισμού: Αγγλικά
Once on the verge of ruin, there, where you fear to fall, the cup is full and I'm the drop, the extra one, that brims over and runs aground. In a general unconcern, on the ground I evaporate, I go up to the sky, emprisonned by clouds, a white jail where I'm forgotten. I'm a man, I'm this drop, shunned by all, put to one side, stepped on, confined. I fall from high, I don't rise up again. I'm this creature neglected by a society that has forgotten me. Scattered because of my strangeness, perhaps my only fault would be to differenciate.