He seems to know more about life, love and rage.
From behind that glass his telephone his lifeline
His next 48 years like 40 000 lifetimes.
The bastard telling me what life is,
I silently shudder and noisily list
Or what it isn't with all time for life deprived
No regrets is not really alive.
But keep them small and try to survive;
"You can't put rain back in clouds, while times passes by."
Dare to dream, son. That's what they say.
But I can't define a "her", let alone "they."
But still "they" feed me lies about keeping my dreams
They quietly add, as colour bursts at my seams,
"Try to keep them small and try to survive."
No questions, no answers, all lying aside.
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