Autumn dreams keep falling from the trees.
Dreams that fall from trees like leaves.
They cover eerie illusions of the past 
That will no longer ever last.

The wind will blow away all dreams, 
Which fly away like rusty days. 
The wind will whisper with the streams 
Of all the broken reveries. 

Of all that seems. Of all that feels. 
Of all that schemes like wretched demons 
With the masks of fellow-angels.
Of liars with the cunning smiles 
That fade away like mist, 
Being pierced by morning beams. 

The evil dies when truth is spoken, 
Yet all remain 
As bitter words still live in wicked hearts. 
The scorching days give way to pleasant evenings, 
But feeble men are not the mighty gods.
Our future will remain secure, 
Though some of us believe it is obscure.