To fall, to rise again, to be trapped.
Broken bones in this shining machine.
I still remember when I thought that the future
would have been full of flying cars
That future is over. Only present survive.
The stormy sea is a daily constant.
And there’s no respite for the weak stomachs.
So lost in the crowd that I can’t find the time to think.
So lost in the crowd that I can’t find a moment to breath.
Confidence exchanged for gold in this "every man for himself".
I learnt in the years not to apologize.
The taste of what is coming is making me feel good.
My childhood dreams have become silly memories that events have proven wrong.
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