Occasionally shall we talk about the old days?
That old familiar restaurant to which we used to go
With the lines of horsechestnut trees outside the window
Days full of coffee
Recklessly searching for that unseen tomorrow
None of us [bad word] others with our hopes
Blown by the hot winds of a changing age
We felt the instant throughout our bodies. Isn't that so?

Weren't there times we slept by the roadside?
Not going anywhere, everyone there.
Although we had no money, we managed to live somehow
Tomorrows carried by poorness
number of us would [bad word] on a small lodgehouse
Living it up until morning and then finding sleep
Every day burning like a storm
We ran until we had no more breath. Isn't that so?

Look at that one remaining photograph
The man sporting the moustache, isn't that you?
Where you might be right now I do not know
handful of our friends are here though
That everything about those days was empty
That is something no-one can say
Even now painting those unfulfilled dreams just the same
You continue [bad word] don't you? Somewhere out there.