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From the well of Origo, |
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the serpent of aeons flow. |
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We have given you a name. |
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Stream of Time you are called |
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from the depths of the earth. |
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You flow straight through our lives |
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Like the stars adrift as guiding points, |
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you drift also from your source |
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always rolling on and on. |
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Is there a purpose at your core? |
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If my words in solitude could have |
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lingered in these rooms |
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here visits may have been longer |
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Despite my efforts to bend the flow, |
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it's me that stretches thin. |
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So tranquil is your surface, |
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everything is at peace, in your image |
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the calmness in your pace |
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may easily fool our minds |
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and you may turn upon us. |
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Always out of reach and |
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always in the mirror |
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you run wild and far |
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the sky within your mirror. |
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You run wild and far |
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and by your banks we may find rest at last |
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our common life is all there is |
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your soul equals our reflections |
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constantly you drift past us. |
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With us, beneath us |
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upstream, downstream. |
