Who Am I, Where do I go, Though in number 18,destination unknown. Vague space, dark places, crowds in streets carrying dull faces and there, Many Stories behind glassy eyes, someone loves and someone dies.
An odd reflection,Stripe after stripe, white and white drifts on hard tarmac. Slick trails run through it, curving the mind, arriving, the answers, rather be blind. carry on weary, or drunk or sobber, could be a banker,could be a robber.
Thousands of lives, but none can be lived, only images are left,in which I believed. Crawling and haunting me with what can't be found, hurling in circles,going round and round. A feeling of grief, shock and hystery, the destination remains a bitter mystery.
Where do I go, where I belong, which ways are right, which thoughts are wrong. A line of soldiers marching on in a narrow street they'll soon be gone And so do I over a bridge over a river the bowels of a tram shake and quiver.
The night consumes us in every moment after without a smile without a laughter. A gainst the dark sky a castle strikes with three towers, three bronze spikes. The road goes on and me on its track, to the grim blaming faces, turning my back.
Not until the forest, not until trees, shall I be condemned to become free. When the leafed path will stretch before, then shall I reach the sea and the shore. A candle flickers on death's marble throne, just a few steps and the poet is gone.
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