So tired of living
So tired of inhaling each breath
It’s as if nothing happens here
Just slowly awaiting the hour of death
Born with the sentence on my forehead
All I can ever do is live
And wait the creases on my face
To mark the passing of the years
What is the use of youth, so futile,
When old age’s slowly creeping in?
I wish… well, I just wish that sometime
I’d capture time, freeze it within
the cold light of a star, at night time.
When all the world is going cold
I’d be the only heartbeat sound there,
A lively “tum-tum”, never old…

I’ve been told by a fortuneteller
That falling stars are angels
Crossing the night sky
And that the sudden cold, eerie wind
Which sometimes makes me moan
Eyes closed, deep in my sleep,
Is them, passing through our realm,
Flapping their feathered wings,
Reaching their white, cold hands
To feed their hunger…

“What do they hunger for, I wonder?”
“It’s dreams, my child, the angels crave.
Their realm of endless godly beauty
Is cold and silent like a grave.”

From that day on, I knew my purpose:
I’d dream so vividly each night
Of all the world’s wondrous wonders
I’d tempt an angel, who then might
Come down to Earth, embrace me tightly
Not ever able to get back
To Heaven, as the dream, so lightly
Would make him, slowly, prisoner.