Kazdy den clovek streta mnoho ludi. Malo kedy si vsak uvedomuje, co su zac, malokedy zachyti ich pohlad na svojom chrbte, ci otvorene oci pri zakopnuti na chodniku. Ja som stretla, nie dnes a nie na chodniku cloveka, ktory chape vela veci ako ja a vlastne o nom poriadne nic neviem a je to fajn. Pocuva. Tak len par riadkov, co mu mozno zas nieco povedia:


It´s the book of my days, it´s the book of my life
and it´s cut like a fruit on the blade of a knife
and it´s al there to see as the section reveals
there´s some sorrow in every life

If it reads like a puzzle, a wandering maze
then I won´t understand ´til the end of my days
I´m still forced to remember
the words of my life

There are promises broken and promises kept
angry words that were spoken, when I should have wept
there´s a chapter of secrets, and words to confess
if I lose everything that I possess
there´s a chapter on loss and a ghost who won´t die
there´s a chapter on love where the ink ´s never dry
...