Flowing eternally, incessantly shapechanging
They run since the creation of the World
From the crystal-clear source of vitality,
Giving births, giving might.
Small brook becomes a roaring torrent
But colors are gradually fading away
It burns in the devouring fire of Phlegethon
Rivers, that are slowly pa**ing by
Never are being the same,
But always to the same end,
The predetermined final
What expects waters falling into the storming seas?
The destination is obscure, but firm.