Wind ruffles his strand
And covers memories with ancient sand
Strand’s blowing off the flesh from our hands
Our legacy will fade, a moment of despair
There’s nothing that can make the pathfinder go out of his straight way
Those who fall behind disperse in perpetuity. There is no coming back
The silent wayfarer never let us lose track
Will you make any break before the very end?
We offer sacrifice to make you stop and rest
We beg for mercy upon our graying dry heads
For any minute given over what you’ve granted
Tonight the Sun will rise on the western bank of Nile
To let the Moon highlight the way
There is no chance to overtake the time
Nowhere to run from him, the traveler from Thebes
Mortals change their gods, kingdoms, and faces
His eyes are motionless with no expression
The indifferent curator of the motions
Never does he change pace
Parchments and manuscripts will start decaying
The sand will refract the tales told and legends
He comes to heal the wounds or to infect them
Keeping us feeling the pain
Lives are flowing out as grains, slipping from his hands
Falling down into dimples of his sandals’ treads
The Scourge of Thebes takes our youth away
Every bone will start turning frail
Tonight the Sun will rise on the western bank of Nile
To let the Moon highlight the way
There is no chance to overtake the time
Nowhere to run from him, the traveler from Thebes
We are not the first who will turn into dust
The end is not tonight
Tonight
Tonight the Sun will rise on the western bank of Nile
To let the Moon highlight the way
Tonight we’ll built the temple of him
The only thing to stand eternally
