To what do I owe the pleasure of time?
Now that I do not know what is mine.
Outside amongst the trees,
I listen to the breeze.
And the birds singing their song,
I fear I have been here too long.
The seasons change, but the scenery doesn’t.
In this garden, where time wasn’t,
Years, months, minutes or days,
I’m the only one here who pays.
In fact, I am the only one here at all.
Stuck inside, the...