Everything comes to an end.
When they get tired of the sky,
shooting stars fall on earth,
by a silent rain on the meadow,
unaware that here, life is annoying too,
oblivious of the luck to be admired by all, in the sky.
The whole day, cooped up in the tipi,
forbidden to do anything because I’m too young,
I can't be of any use for the tribe.
Dreaming, I escape from my insignificant life,
And, oddly, the morning after, I am covered by dust and stars.
But no one knows my precious discoveries.
No one notices my worth and my pain.
No one knows stars are dying.
Stars fall, humans rise, and me I can only seek after...
a reason to smile, a motive to run, a way to choose...
looking for a place in a world.. on earth or in the sky.
This is the somnambulant’s instinct, fleeing the real world,
being in the limits, sleepwalking between dream and reality,
rising the night then falling the next day,
counting the fallen star, counting down the hours of insomnia.