it is the broken who know this craving to break away,
it is the wronged ones who need this badly to make things right.
when you are lost you’re just lasting through every day,
longing for something and lusting through every night, ;
outraged
it is despair that makes you a ghastly ghost,
you disappear, you slip through your own fingers,
sleep through your life, for whatever had mattered most
failed to perform and left you a voiceless singer ;
on stage
it was king Midas who turned things to gold with his touch,
sometimes I feel like I can relate to the skill:
all that I touch turns to dust and to ashes as such,
for all that touched me turned out to be heavily ill
with rage
you know it’s enough when your head is all heavy and dizzy,
timing is always perfect to live - and to grieve.
when you’re a mess you’re unsettling and uneasy
but that’s how you know when it is high time to leave
the cage