Every mountain isn't yours to climb,
Every emotion not yours to be felt,
Every dream not yours to be lived,
Every love not yours to be enjoyed.

This little world of yours, my friend
That is all you take from this here.
The paraphernalia you will leave behind,
Maybe for another weary traveller to rejoice.

These moist eyes will soon dry up,
This melancholy song will cease too.
This love will die an uninteresting death,
The embers will burn bright before fading away.