domingo, 4 de abril de 1999

Tied up

I’m tied up to the bed

Can’t react , can’t even think

No freedom, no life set…

My life is stained with ink.

Can’t hear, can’t talk

No reasons to wake tomorrow.

Can’t see my faults,

I’ll just sleep in sorrow.

Can’t see, can’t smell,

Only this pain I feel:

The pain of the guilt…

Guilty of being ill…

If only I could taste

Again the joys of life,

I would take it wiser

And avoid this fight.

Sem comentários: