Our time is running out
Killing us in every breath
Turning dreams into lies
And worries into facts

All the fortuitous things
Will happen by chance
Even if it makes us
Insane and impatient

My superfluously pleasurable desire
Showed me that my futile effort
Was like a handful of sand
Slipping through my fingers

All the fortuitous things
Will happen by chance
Even if it makes us
Insane and impatient