From the swaying of the damp room,
And the heavy boots on wooden floors high above,
I know that we still have not arrived.
To whom do those memories belong?
The ones that mist across my mind,
From a place with open air.
Should I keep gnawing at the ropes
And cursing the time I spent
Entrusting my fate to the captain?
Or should I watch the orchestra of dust
Weaving starry lacework
For the bashful sun?