My skin is as dry as the face of autumn, not because of the summer sun, but because I lost the last drop of water from my body. Every day I pass by the seller of sadness and donate to him my tears.
There are also other reasons for all this dryness in my soul; The most important of which is that I am a strange thing that the days found lying on a lost island that had been abandoned by its people. I was a pile of sand then. And this is not really the strange thing. Rather, the strange thing is that at the time I was able to move and did not know that I was a sand man, but now, as I am talking to you; I feel like a sand man who is not good at anything. And I feel so dry and made of death. You see that happiness, it shines like a pearl in a silver tent. It is only satisfied with a heart in which death has departed from the cities of ruin, so my heart is full of sadness because I'm a sand man talking to you.