Better days are the property of past 
Simple words and things, they [bad word] treasures so fast 
I'm like the boy looking at his broken toy 
Swearing on and on, he will never play again 

Maybe one of these days, an angel in the sky 
Will tell me why... 
Why every ideal thing is here to die 

Better days are the property of past 
Simple words and things, they [bad word] treasures so fast 
Just like a ghost, I will vanish in your mind 
I with you now only for this favourite time? 

Maybe one of these days, an angel in the sky 
Will tell me why... 
Why every person I love is looking for 
New and higher days, 
new game to play 
One more, without me.