When will you know if your heaven,
or is an never ending dream,
sleeping by a machine,
do you hear foot steeps,
getting closer all the time,
scattered thoughts lay all around,
then begin again,
heart ticks and tocks,
just like big ben,
and stops again,
ticks and tocks,
and the starts again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem