“The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart.” (Albert Camus, 1913-1960)
another mile on this old road another hour, another breath the thousand deaths we die in life, rolling the boulder up the hill the shifting sands of destiny, covering what we’d hoped to be
out there must be something, out there must be someone we’ll attain the summit of our longing someday something must be out there, someone must be out there but we don’t believe in fairytales anymore
we find ourselves inside a room, at either end an unseen door between both doors a surging space inside this space we shiver with the void
out there must be something, out there must be someone we will reach the summit with our boulder someday something must be out there, someone must be out there but we don’t believe in ourselves anymore
we found nothing out there, no we found nothing out there and we watched our boulder rolling back down again we left nothing out there, we left nothing out there just a yellowed blueprint of what we longed to be out there must be something, out there must be someone we’ll attain the summit of our longing someday something must be out there, someone must be out there but we don’t believe in ourselves anymore
old heart of mine, cold heart of mine how long has it been since we have seen the sun? we climbed a hill with toilsome steps, on our weary shoulders a weight as the world got colder we found ourselves paralyzed and freezing from our fears in every waking hour we hoped to find, in any kind of golden light a sense of change and so many words, so many faces, swept away in hurricanes from our sight our hands are writing unknowable signs into immortal sands it’s only us, only us one must imagine, imagine this man, one must imagine this man happy…