The soil you stand on is dirty
because your feet have been on
the mud and now your whole body
seems to be collapsing.

That bug you see, so many times
facing death. It’s hated and its
hatred grows by the hour.
It’s got the right to be mad,
sad. It’s worth more than your
rotten soul.

You once had one.
The prettiest jewel and treasure
are in your range. Yet, you
fall for it, and you shall
fall over and over.
Your conciousness will beat you.
Sooner or later.

Regreting will be the only thing
left. That’s what will make you
human, the only human.
You belong on the ground, crawling
as the raven sentenced.
And your tears shall be stuck on
your face while wild life
steals your breath away.

Then you will remember.
How you were once happy.
How you had it all.
How highly they thought of you.
But, in the end,
when the skies turn blue again,
it will come to you.
Above all,
you are human.
As usual, too late.

24/10/2007  –   00:40

Postado por Mateus Campos


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