The city at night; fittingly busy, yet sluggish at sight

With bird's-eye view, the late and old airline

A journeyman, the celestial world's acolyte

The changing of seasons, a glimpse of jubilation

Bringing presents like winter, but only the snow

Withered lilies in the rain, painted in carnation

To the acoustic guitar, they dance the fandango

Yet he barges in with September

Spitting fuel to the newborn ember

And like the seasons, I fall

More than any regrets may appall

We'll be back, desperatly clinging on the ashes

Though now we know, even the stars will pass on

But as the story goes and the life flashes

It gets better as it gets older, says Bourgogne