What do we write for?
Knowing that time flies by.
What are we looking for?
Hearing the clock of life ticking on.
What drives us?
Knowing that most of it is to no avail
Who do we pour our hearts out to –
Knowing that not a soul shall listen or care –
But to ourselves who suffer?
Who cannot keep living like this
Pain shrivels through our body – incessant it is –
Driven by the fear the clock may stop
Before we shall have finished
For time’s chariot is winged
Full speed ahead it comes, pitiless – merciless
It shall end all living on earth
And yet
We continue for it is what shall be left of
Us – those that no one wants and yet –
Shall like a plague
Tell th’ truth of the black flowers of evil and
Sorrow that you who do not care
So blissfully decide to ignore.