When your hair have gray streaks
And your skin is wrinkled, withered.
When your bones become frail.
I'll be there in all those ebbs
And when the water crosses the line.
I'll be your stick so you do not fall
And when you do fall
My hand will be there
Ready to hold you before all
My hand, for you to hold
While we walk together
To see the last sunset along the shore
We'll have our share of fights, no doubt
But you'll find me closer, throughout

All strings are frail, They may not hold.
But I'll always cherish these memoirs of old.
And I'll wait for you somewhere, someday,
To spend—with you—the last hour before nightfall.