A song by the last one to leave

Rather be the one on leaving than to see off a leaving one, stood by a frosted window to make farewell. Rather not wave hands there but rather go on a deserted street, maybe dusty and windswept than to stay praying for goodbye, with no one in one's behind by whom to be seen off, I'd rather be the one to depart all by oneself. Once taken to on the way, keep on going heading for somewhere, once in a while on one's leaving, shedding back quick glances, about once, with flickering bits of smile, waving hands, on the barren field spread under freezing wintry sky, teardrops, no way to be held on, left unhidden, all ones around make themselves something to leave, on each way back, having seen them off, one by one, with vacancy in hands, unware of winds, Baahraam that'd come and go, ah, where shall we go to be at the platform for us to go and come. Anyway, I'd rather be the one who is to leave the last, having all around oneself well seen off one by one, stood alone to the last, all by oneself, with no one by whom to be seen off nor anyone to make farewell, all alone, I'd rather be the one that is the last, the last one who is to leave.