I've been talking to myself for hours now ;
this is the end of my way, my very last try.
My head’s floating over the ruins of my very robotic body.
This place’s as dark as the night.
I know I’ll never come back to the normality I used to hate before.
I have written a story about reality like a secret diary, the shelter I need ;
I guess that time has come to shout, Is there anything else I could think about ?
I want to get out ! I want to get out from this funeral maze, forever out of this place.
I’ve been scratching the wood for hours now, I just can’t go on like this I’m much too tired.
I’d rather sleep for a while and have a little rest, time is all I have.
Or do I belong to time ?
Worms are waiting for the flesh to rot.