In a year in which the clock will not show minutes anymore,
the age in love will not be relevant,
all the colors of your preference will be picked by you,
and the fragrance of you on-in me will find a name to love.
Don't blame me for this God,
the blame you have taken for me before.
Give wings to those dreams you have impressed upon my mind and heart;
make my mind and heart converse for long,
allow them to put to death all propaganda,
and as their walk together continues
shield them,
let them fear no more the harm of enemies.
In a year in which love will...
