Posted: 2003-10-20 08:00am
Give Me the Chance to Be
~ver
~ver
Misery
They spoke not words of love,
But words of lust and envy;
They told tales not of joy,
But tales of sadness and of woe.
They sang not tunes of harmony,
But tunes of dischord and contempt;
They played not songs of feasting,
But songs of draught and famine.
They were not living lives alive,
But rather sleeping while walking wakened;
They were not reaping crop or profit,
But rather letting all rot and wasted.
Though my hands are clean,
Though my soul is empty for these people,
Though my heart goes not out,
I yet weep for them in sympathy.
They spoke not words of love,
But words of lust and envy;
They told tales not of joy,
But tales of sadness and of woe.
Why am I crying?
What purpose have I here?
How do I get out of here?
Why am I crying?
They sang not tunes of harmony,
But tunes of dischord and contempt;
They played not songs of feasting,
But songs of draught and famine.
My hands, listless, by my side,
My soul, empty, unfeeling,
My wretched heart, torn apart,
Yet tears pass from mine eyes for them.
They were not living lives alive,
But rather sleeping while walking wakened;
They were not reaping crop or profit,
But rather letting all rot and wasted.
Why do I cry for them, the race to die?
What am I doing here? I cannot hurt nor harm.
How do I leave, why do I stay?
Why do I wake up to misery?
Inspired by Zeromancer | Fractured
~ver