Walking alone, no one in sight.
Standing over the subway, the steam in my eyes,
Rain spots on the walkway, the street lambs eating some flies,
Humming and buzzing,
Burning and baking.
They were flying, limbo, and now dead meat,
To ease their pain I crush them with my feet.
And I'd stop and ask myself:
Why and what am I doing here?
Nothing. No reason. No goal. That's all I fear.
Whispers in my ears.
Eyes bleeding tears.
Counting the days since I have last seen her,
And counting the days that are yet to come,
My god! So many days. A big lump sum.
I'd walk the distance. If it would only make a difference!
Like digging graces to put life into dead bodies, for instance.
Oceans, vallies, mountains and streets.
Clouds above, a floor-less train with no seats.
If I could only reach the sky,
I would be happy and I would no longer sigh.
The air humid and thick,
The leaves on the ground have lost their trick.
My dream so shallow, in it I would drown.
My soul so mellow, I have become a clown.
Stillness seeping downward glowing,
Knowing creeping inward blowing.
HUSH HUSH
One shouldn't dream too much; a prison called illusion.
Free thy self of lies, unreachable dreams. This is my conclusion:
To reach the sky,
One has to fly.