Among The Grey Masses

I'm too tired waiting for that feeling That seems to never come Which I could never embrace My senses are well trained By long time of awaiting Instead of this all There's always space for A little bit of confusion Evoked by unable to describe Some kind of stimulus Still strong enough To feel anxious being myself Still stupor enough To be likely dead Yet insufficiently long ... Always goes by Leaves with heart soaked with grayness Once again we need to seek for warmth Everyday I feel the same With every breath I'm one minute closer to death