Mondial

I would give absolutely everything to get a glimpse
Of fortune and fame trapped in Pandora’s box
Now hand me those melancholic pencils that will
Draw you a sufficient picture of the mind’s mysery

With every line you speak, every line you write,
You cross the medium into blankness, pure egoism,
A self-centredness that wasn’t received first hand,
That was gladly accepted by only you and you only.

You bit off that last piece of dignity, of freedom
And it’s simply nagging, that despair, that despair
That you can’t share, you can’t share it with anyone,
And the tasks were reconfirmed without you in mind.

Well, I fell into the trap, I’ve told you before
I’m wasting my energy on ideals that are not worth
Pursuing, because they signify everything that
I have been fighting against for over a decade.

Your footprints have given you away, Mrs Backdrifter,
And you were fooled by your own sentiments of
A future that you’ve already planned and laid out,
but will flourish and grow in somebody else’s hands.

Tuesday, 21 April 2009