作词 : Andres Waldura
  Strange words pass by
 no sentence or sense
 they're not meant for me
 incessant suspense
 
 I dare not to ask
 or participate
 each glance seems to bother
 my thoughts deviate
 
 I wish it was autumn
 your hand on my cheek
 soft winds, golden sunbeams
 a song, distant, weak