O flowing days of my life,
Broken chain of marbles, blue,
Greatest agony is the strife,
Not knowing what to make of you;
I, with all the stillness, lay,
Transfixed towards morrow’s ways.
O fading dreams of childhood,
Buried by the sands of years,
Hope is almost lost for good,
Through the hands of growing fears;
I, with all the slackness, fight,
Demons of the lonely nights.
O gnawing screams of hidden soul,
Prophets of approaching doom,
How a man in lasting fall,
Can he force a spring to bloom?
Treading on a wasted past,
In the manner of outcasts.