the end

 

It seems that nothing is to take this wretched dulness away

While the world burns of war

And I doom into an unreasonable future so unfitting in the present

I crave a gathering but that’s not all

I crave of being relied upon, I crave of relying

I dream of being known, I dream of knowing 

I feel an empty, crunched up can

Not sure of what it can do, man

The silent, visible unrest

Swallowing up my careful nest

The world is ending it seems

Where do I wanna be?

What to be when I ‘grow’?

Questions, I hardly know

Show me a flicker of hope

Where do all these 30 years old go?

Age, world, media and time

What’s really my crime?

I suffer of unknown

Plans on hold

Maybe the death of the soul?

Maybe too isolated in the throne?

I certainly can’t have it all

Yet I want, want and want it all

I wonder how people are spending time

My loved ones and all online

Something is off, I can say that much

World, me or all of us.

what do you call it?

 

What do you call it 

When you’ve grown but only weeds?

It’s for all to see

Careful water and spendings on the ‘fixes’

Only help it mask the stitches

My eyes, stealing away from gaze

My mind’s away

What do you call it

When you used to know what you wanted

Now there’s a gosht living in this skin

What do you call it

When the world has spun you out of its orbit?

Your oxygen lent, your days owned

What do you call it

When you’re alive, only through the pretence?

The cave of self betrayal and despair runs too deep

What do you call it when you don’t want to live

But you don’t die?