The spring evening descends
To the morning of green and blue.
Out in the wilderness are grasses
And butterflies remain beautiful and true.
Some darlings ride unbridled horses.
Some phantoms scratch the rough soil.
Minutes have turned to painful hours.
The knights have abandoned their mistresses.
Young blood feasted under the trees.
Knowledge is sold to the rich men.
How often do we wander in freedom?
There are lords who cannot control our will.