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.