Among The Grey Masses

I'm too tired waiting for that feeling

That seems to never come

Which I could never embrace

My senses are well trained

By long time of awaiting

Instead of this all

There's always space for

A little bit of confusion

Evoked by unable to describe

Some kind of stimulus

Still strong enough

To feel anxious being myself

Still stupor enough

To be likely dead

Yet insufficiently long ...

Always goes by

Leaves with heart soaked with grayness

Once again we need to seek for warmth

Everyday I feel the same

With every breath I'm one minute closer to death