"Vitam quae faciant beatiorem,
Iucundissime Martialis, haec sunt:
Res non parta labore, sed relicta;
Non ingratus ager, focus perennis;
Lis numquam, toga rara, mens quieta;
Vires ingenuae, salubre corpus;
Prudens simplicitas, pares amici;
Convictus facilis, sine arte mensa;
Nox non ebria, sed soluta curis;
Non tristis torus, et tamen pudicus;
Somnus, qui faciat breves tenebras:
Quod sis, esse velis nihilque malis;
Summum nec metuas diem nec optes."
The sun has rise in the winter our discontent
The fallen leaves embrace the grief within
What wasn't meant to be touched,
Lays now broken and disowned
With uncertainty as a friend
We keep on walking, not knowing if this circle would ever end
By lies and sadness harmed,
The sacred sands are flooding our crystal time
The way is shut now, no other place to go
The way is shut now, but there still voices on the road...
Just grinding our wishes of what we could've become
The aging days, pain and distress
The winter's frame, no self - no names
Once and again, we rise just to fail
Once and again, to fail and forsake
Despite of aches and trembles
Brick by brick we keep our chances to live
Once and again, to pursue and to pay
Once and again, to climb and to excel
Vitam quae faciant
"...the night discharged of all care"
Iucundissime Martialis
"...Contented with thine own estate"
The aging days, pain and distress
The winter's frame, no self - no names
Vitam...
Vitam quae faciant...
Vitam quae faciant...