Am I the Deceased or the Living?
As
alone as I head for somewhere on the street
step by step while my foot no longer feel
a kind of weight. Cold as it is while desolate it becomes
and fits my mind in wider tolerance.
Open the door,
as if you were right there:
Creams of the crop within
We are the one to be chosen
The stamen stored claims to begin
in a way of not being forsaken.
Rain as much as you can
withered in no time
Your hug makes me warm,
while the rain wipes
the look I feel no alarm.
To feel you but not to be felt.
Only do you tell
will you be told.
Back to the street I am be-
coming...
It is neither rabidity nor normality
but to question me:
Am I the deceased
or the living?
step by step while my foot no longer feel
a kind of weight. Cold as it is while desolate it becomes
and fits my mind in wider tolerance.
Open the door,
as if you were right there:
Creams of the crop within
We are the one to be chosen
The stamen stored claims to begin
in a way of not being forsaken.
Rain as much as you can
withered in no time
Your hug makes me warm,
while the rain wipes
the look I feel no alarm.
To feel you but not to be felt.
Only do you tell
will you be told.
Back to the street I am be-
coming...
It is neither rabidity nor normality
but to question me:
Am I the deceased
or the living?
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