Where does this river flow, that has no stream,
Carrying nothing but mere dreams.
The constant waters, that smoothened stones,
Will they always flow alone?
No riverbed is waiting anywhere,
The streams without direction float on air,
And no one will ever know their name,
Not even the rocks they gave a shape.
On their endless waterflow,
They bear no hopes, but only sorrow,
And loads of useless grit and sand,
To the seas of unknown lands.
