No more long speeches, No more long breaks In the forest, where we take Turns to reach for the clouds Gathered, Then parted From the circles, they formed. No more time to talk, No more time to walk On in the same direction. We are so much like the ash that rains Upon our hands, in the cold. No more heavy hours, No more drunken sighs, No more wilted flowers, No more senseless goodbyes. No more, to die for. We turn upon the same road, Forming circles with our arms, As our paths never cross Upon the walk. We leave soldiers to die, People to cry Their eyes, upon the platter For our laughter. We have oceans to fly over, Leaving our rain to fill it, deeper.