In your house
too many doors
Too many choices
And many ways you cannot go
Your bones are fragile
Your eyes are blind
You forgot you words
Don`t your mind is tired ?
Can`t you feel the cold ?
It`s coming from your heart
Taking your breath
But blood still run
It still warming up your hands
But your sun is fading
And the shadow-dance
Will be your last painting
For what you have lived for
maybe For reproduction ?
or for your pleasure ?
Anyway it was self-deception.
So what`s the point
Of your travel ?
Just the everlast cold
And the everlast fever
In your house
too many doors
Too many choices
And many ways you cannot go
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