Walking through the city, dark as if power had died
Alone, but never without the quiet voices in my head
Why would I never find what I was searching for
I knew that I'd not even known my own history
And the dreams of youth had all been stinking lies
When I thought of killing myself or dying instead
I realized there were still things left to explore
My body was limp, exhausted from the misery
Why go on if it all comes to loss?
No one lives without dying
Who am I to complain about the cost?
“I have hardly anything in common with myself and should stand
very quietly in a corner, content that I can breathe.”
