Beneath the weight of time’s cruel hand,
I wander through this barren land,
Where every joy feels faint, contrived,
And meaning fades, though once it thrived.

The sun may rise, the rivers flow,
Yet in my heart, a shadow grows.
For what is life, but fleeting breath,
A fragile truce with certain death?

The stars, they burn, then fade away,
Immortal dreams in mortal clay.
We build, we break, we laugh, we cry,
And...