The hand of a sundial, a perfectly full moon
Perhaps even that which is certain are simply phantasmagoria
A photo in an album, yesterday's diary entry,
I name my parents, a couple who I haven't as much as seen

You could say, that "I" used to exist,
You could say, that proof is one that did not once exist

Without waking, this dream turns into reality
The things that seemed off simply turn into something ordinary
If Schrodinger's cat is not within the box, and if there exist no white ravens,
Then maybe I was wrong
I fall to the land of oblivion
I simply fall

The box of an incurable disease, the wait for oxygen to come
The stories of the past disappear as if they were fiction
As if everything I had built up crumbled away,
I begin to reject this physical form of mine

At evening, walking down the brick path home
I certainly saw that one silhouette

You were there,
Transparently blooming into color
Like the stained glass within a brightly burning church
If I were to have one certain belief, then
It would not be in God's miracles,
"I truly love you"

The blue night-sky on the day where the first snow fell,
Your hand's warmth underneath the city lights,
The smell of coffee
All of them, my precious memories

Let light shine upon the path to happiness
Beyond the starry sky that I cannot yet reach,
A yet-unknown theory called "love" awaits

Within the slumbering me, an answer formed