At The End Of The Line 06. 08. 08

It seems I've lost my inspiration
My rhyme's got covered with the must
Fatigued, in the entire frustration
I can't revive the crozzled past

And in the uneventful present
My folk's changed to the noisome tribe
There's not a subject here quite pleasant
For my tired lyre to describe
My heart is sore,
my cold blood curdles
And soon will stop
Inside my veins
I feel the deadly gloom engirdlels
 My body with its icy chains

The treacherous indisposition
Imbues me as a loathsome pest
And in a total inanition
I frame my ultimate bequest:

To -history- I leave my verses -
The hard-worked with the incomplete
And hope won't see how time immerses
Them deep into the garbage pit

My private chronicles and annals
Will stay forever unrevealed
Because the secret knowledge's channels
For -this- world must remain concealed.

I know to good none e'er will alter
The stars will fall, the streams will roll
And the obsession like a halter
Will strangle every human soul

But when i'll end the frail existence
To let my phantom touch the sky
Will someone value my persistence?
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