I was four, and I don’t remember my father’s face, who soon left to search for bread, as was common back then. An ordinary picture of a nineties family: crayons swinging, white-blue on the wall, softly blushing. I remember us kids racing through the garages, soles stamped with puddles, carried by wind and laughter. We never worried about tomorrow, only the now, right then: football on cracked asphalt, cans as goalposts, sweat forming crowns again. Hands rough, somewhere beyond the finish line; lost the last goodbye, traded the day for a screen, wild devotion. Time... Cathedral bells ringing through these empty frames Time... I wasted so much, chasing hollow games Time... What’s the result — a third of my life already lived? Time... All my friends sailed away, cutting like a knife Time... Never moves forward, never pays my debts Time... The choir of clocks keeps singing, filled with regret Time... Don’t chase the things that leave you numb Time... Please listen, before you become the same At fourteen, smoke curled — the first bitter taste, cold light slipping away. Danced with other bodies, tattooed arms, fists full of stories. Pressed mouths to bottles, midnight clashing and plans unfolding, not caring about what came after — only the now, melting hours. Drifted through classes, hearts pricked by drunken pride. Sixteen on the edge, cast aside, surviving paper-thin. The world kept turning, I held on to impulses, restless. Trains delayed, never called home, too loud for regret. At twenty I was born into the fleet, boots soaked in salt, Baltic fog. A prayer wrapped around my dog tags, lightning on steel decks. Returned, piecing together a suit for university halls — but who did I imagine I’d be at thirty? Counting money, folding dreams, forgetting to search for meaning, forgetting forty as well, drifting down the same numbing river. If angels keep the books, are these hours only borrowed? Can I trade the minutes I lost, return the seconds that weren’t mine? Do I kneel on linoleum, sweep the shards together to heal? Or walk through the rain with open hands, catching years in the air? Time... Cathedral bells ringing through these empty frames Time... I wasted so much, chasing hollow games Time... What’s the result — a third of my life already lived? Time... All my friends sailed away, cutting like a knife Time... Never moves forward, never pays my debts Time... The choir of clocks keeps singing, filled with regret Time... Don’t chase the things that leave you numb Time... Please listen, before you become the same At thirty, stories spill out, ticking past regrets long lost. People I loved vanished into the veil, I couldn’t catch them, couldn’t hold them. All my foolishness built a pedestal for every year that slipped away: small change, shattered hours, laughter traded for lazy beer habits. Now the benches are empty, friends gone, hands abandoned. Sometimes I count my blessings backwards, unraveling. Never said goodbye the right way; lost my grace along the way. Every escape attempt turned into limp, wasted hours. Now I teach you not with sermons, but with scars and questions. Time... Cathedral bells ringing through these empty frames Time... I wasted so much, chasing hollow games Time... What’s the result — a third of my life already lived? Time... All my friends sailed away, cutting like a knife Time... Always moving, never paying my debts Time... The choir of clocks sings on, heavy with regret Time... Don’t chase the things that leave you numb Time... Listen, please — before you become the same. None.
