Waking up every morning, same routine, same story,
in the rhythm of days we survive.
Rare laughter in silence, few colors in grey,
on our road we are trying to arrive.

Intersecting lines
in the book of time,
we try to unwind,
moving dots in this puzzle
and I guess it‘s all part of the plan.

In these crowded streets
we all hope to meet
someone to defeat
the emptiness in our hearts,
assemble all of our parts

to design
the book of time
and try to unwind,
moving dots in this puzzle
and I guess it‘s all part of the plan.

Waking up in the morning,
new routine, new story,
in the rhythm of days

we survived.