The sunken sulked their ways
In the concrete world of then...

We moped the streets
At three o clock, 't was a night...

The fuel of the drain
Is scarcely lit with hay...

Curtain call
On my name, I wish...

On the brink of modesty
Life's nothing more than a crumb...

We silently guessed the rhythm
The bass that mocks the day...

I believe we believed in dreams
Of whishes in the mourning, smoothening the elders...

Eleven strings on my harp
Pleading for a stranger's voice...

What is a cherished feeling?
- A lone and cruel device...

I woke up and cried
For the world has died...

It is a fine frenzy
The hums of a daily life...

I forgot the label today
The prize to mark my shoulder...