I'm not writing poems cause I am a bard
I'm drifting in the abbys of my thoughts
Without an end... blundering along...
Thousands of ideas still existing

They are in background
Of frozen sun and pure water
Feeding my intricate lust
I'm turning around my slumbering sand-glass

Full of my generous thoughts
It's sleeping, but the clock is still ticking
It's ready to die
What is hiding inside?

Two sharp swords fighting along
Without any time to dream
No creature allows them to sleep
Because unknown are on their way
Their names are paradox
And enormous virtue- dimness

Full of my generous thoughts
It's sleeping, but the clock is still ticking
It's ready to die
What is hiding inside?

If there was a knowledge
Of unknown tuition
And a future of forgotten past
We drown in our thoughts
Fighting alone
Against the confined destination

Full of my generous thoughts
It's sleeping, but the clock is still ticking
It's ready to die
What is hiding inside?

It's music...

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