And that makes me sad
Know what a dress could be,
long and pompous
But instead I am
an empty black sack
Full of loneliness and misery
I haven't learned anything, I
I only cling to imaginary beings
Creation of this stormy mind
Some vague memories.
I have a wounded soul
And a little hobby
To jump over nails
Decadence expressed on dirty paper
That don't lead to anything either.
That makes me sad.
