Seelenlicht - Diary of Desolation, Part One | Текст песни и Аккорды

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• Diary of Desolation, Part One

Dear diary,

I don't think I can bear another day of this mind-numbing drudgery. Every morning it's the same: my fellow termites and I leap aboard the seven thirty-eight from Canterbury East to Victoria and stare blankly at one another for an hour and a half.
No one utters a solitary word, but we like brothers in our servitude, bound inextricably in a passive acceptance of life's eternal misery. Sometimes our very thoughts appear to hover momentarily above our heads, thrashing frantically as though imprisoned within a frustrating pool of inevitable non-fulfilment. Around the luggage racks they fly, seeking vainly the most vague and minute opportunities of expression amid the restraining boundaries of conformity and dull repetition. It's nice to dream. This morning I notice an ugly, overweight man with a large grey moustache staring quite unashamedly at the legs of every female unfortunate enough to choose the same compartment. I suppose that even his desires - as grubby and repulsive as they may be - constitude a dream of some description. A passionate yearning for satisfaction and release, perhaps, or a lifelong quest for personal betterment and success. Isn't that what we all want? My own dreams are getting more frequent these days and, to be totally honest, dear Diary, I much prefer to lose myself amongst the pleasurable kingdoms of my own imagination than in the puzzling complexities of the London Underground system. Or, for that matter, in the endless corridors and drone-strewn hallways of Canary Wharf. Freedom! That's what I want. The freedom to have political, social and economic control over my own destiny. Ha! Some hope. Who the hell do I think I am? An idealist? An Utopian, even? Am I merely the proverbial angry young man, a lonely and isolated face in a flowing sea of economic units? The silent Raskolnikov of my age? Whilst my mind repeats the rhetorical verbiage of emancipation I, like all the other pin-striped insects, find that my body is leading me towards the escalators, the ticket barriers and, ultimately, the office. My daily subservience to the capitalist system is a reflection of my helplessness and despair. The helplessness and despair of society in general. How did we ever get into this mess? And, more importantly, how the hell are we going to get out of it?\" ~ Troy Southgate

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