Among The Grey Masses

Faust Again

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