"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...