Looking Back

I have nothing I can call mine
Wish there were a thing or two.
They took away what I cared for
Now the bleak wind blows past my face.

The torch of my existence,
One day passes on to Another.
'Tis Fuelled not by desire,
But by promises I have to keep.

The summer's gone
Winter's come.
I have no warm clothes
And no cozy bed.

Whose nimble fingers once
Played the harp of the past,
Now pull the strings of the future:
His ways are strange.

I believed in freedom
And set it free:
Happiness was a bird;
I couldn't keep it captive.

Will this pain last longer
Or the life?
I am not rich enough
To buy my past.