That little mountain rises while other dissolve into a plain, time redefines itself and falls in sadness grain by grain ... "Time
heals all the wounds", the two - tongued echoes seem to say, but nothing, nothing changes, still pain remains, won't pass away ... I went
weal as I grew old, and time itself has made me slow, and as I close my eyes in sadness a thousand seasons come and go ... Mighty enough
to cover all and also cruel enough to reveal, but the wounds and scars I carry neither force nor kiss can heal ... No, time heals nothing,
nothing, nothing, spitefully turns away and laughs, leaves you half-broken and in defiance is only added another scar ... Call it "blind"
how I am writhing, counting hours, centuries. The pain it glows and grows in tides, unable to vanish, unwilling to cease ... No time heals
nothing, nothing, nothing, pushes 'till we're diving into different flesh. Time heals nothing, nothing, nothing in the coldness of the
inner flames... time's fingers claw, I am losing hold, there is no hope for me on earth. Time either still or maybe rushing, in any case
it will turn out worse ... Time is fleeting, time stands still, it stops for no-one and we're trapped withing. Though I may dream of the
light, I am falling back to the left-hand side ... "How I wish that I was dead and rest in final peace, but even the luxury of death can't
cure the wounds time cannot heal..."
