A blink hardly to see
A tree from the first root to the last fruit

Impossible for eyes to perceive
All we see are the marks you leave
The pace with which you go
Spans painfully fast and unbearably slow
No matter how much you race
You will catch us without grace

You are the waiting, the impatience, the fading
Of a moment, the holding on to some recollection

Impossible for eyes to perceive
All we see are the marks you leave
The pace with which you go
Spans painfully fast and unbearably slow
No matter how much you race
You will catch us without grace

You are the instrument of caducity
Which lets us yearn for infinity

Impossible for eyes to perceive
All we see are the marks you leave
The pace with which you go
Spans painfully fast and unbearably slow
No matter how much you race
You will catch us without grace