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The throne that we all sit on

Is the throne we soon will fall from

A chair of our convenienve

Our apparent irresistibility

Our facade

Our presence

The bequest of an irregular dependence

Getting absolutely outsize

To our seemingly early lifelessness

A sad heritage of a force, destined to a civilization

That monopolized its seat, its throne

The throne will fall

Our lucky way will lead to the ashes

Not far away to melt into the sun

Just a light somewhere in the trap of nothingness

The harvest of vintage is still hanging

The fields to cultivate nor reaped in

The next generation won't exist

If there was ever a generation we shall

Disappear the saga

In the emptiness of our mind