stump of the brain
now and late
uncertainty alive, certainly pierced
with the sun without sun,
taken from myself
- when I'm not for people, then I guess I'm a monster.
when I fall sleep without shame
while walking, while talking,
when my glass bells ring
what am I watching
when trains pass by?
- and just crows follow me while I wander.
and what you really think of me
when rage, fire and hatred take over?
this is not someone that I need to be
I'm not worth more than my rags?