Walking trough now well-known streets. Knowing when the lights will change – the color so they can run. The familiar faces every day. Wishing for something more worth fighting for. Trapped in their fields. Reaping day after day. Disappearing is a dream. Finding something new. But knowing there are a couple more lines to fill.

Holding the whisper. Creating the path alone. Sometimes cold. Finding comfort in the dark. Starting a fire so you can warm and burn every part of your soul leaving colors. Hiding behind walls of sand holding a stack of carts wondering which one is the next.

All in different shapes but all of them a have similar colors.

Preferring to stay cold but wishing for a touch. Knowing that can tie you up, you can’t see when someone stands in front of you. Surrounding yourself with melted sand. Suffocated by gray smoke.

Years of insanity makes you feel in peace. Tearing yourself apart to entertain. Now watching the sea. And the lyric runs through your head “it’s a brand new day it’s never too late to start”

Can’t stand by and wait like the others.

Wishing to walk on the streets made of gold. Standing in the middle of the path trying to avoid the trees in front of you so you can move on.


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