Part One

In the morning, you drift around
The streets, and all the plants emerging from a dusty ground.
You keep your little pace
Going for a whole a new street, new people, new images for your own lack of something
Something is always a bother.

You see a cramp full of people
Faces looking down
Exhausted
Not much going on for their life
A constant void.

You keep on the pace
Alone.
Sometimes listening to some music
Thinking nothing in particular
Growing up and realising a lot of things.

Your music is bad
The mistakes
And the long jump
Like any other day
Alone, and you with a childlike behaviour.

Sometimes even suffering
And sometimes looking at a woman with a sight of danger
Alone and you, with a foolish hope, without any defence against the world.
A sight to pleasure your own narcissistic needs.

Part Two

A lost word
Trying to sleep
No sleep at all
With a mind that is fascinated by Hitler
His craziness and the lengths that a man can take.

And his life
His loneliness and the abstract mind that took on the whole world
All alone.
The best of life that might have, by just standing alone.
Being afraid to hold a gun, but a will to kill the world by just a look.

A long night
And the void of nothingness
Pain and his jostle around the corner
A violin noise, and looking at a dead screen filled with lines of obscure sentences
Sometime great things coming out of it

Realising that it’s all false and trying again
Later, the same chord repeating against one another.
A genius lying at the other end of the word.
Suffering greater than any artist, or simply trying to understand the meaning of suffering.
The pain to get to a point of no falter.

Yet you falter again. With a need for more suffering.
And some have no suffering, Great deals of no-good hands.
Life that is being lived by billions of people.
An individual seeing us all.
More individual and the country is in shackles.

More shackles, then a world of amusement park with more individual taking their own part as a define chaos.
Chaos and being alone with a sight to hold.
We are all alone with a mind of full of tragedies
A certain grief and enjoying its passing. A tough act and the reminiscing of it

And the need for it
A man with his love for freedom trying to write the best piece that he has ever written.
In those alone time with a piano
And a jump to the fall of something good or delusional
Every jump and a series of jumps again to stop

To look
And to endure
The endurance, and the pain

Part Three

A soul drifting with a matching intensity
Not trying to get involved in anything
Watching some trees
Watching some people
Watching the hot girls and their hot bottoms

Watching some men with nothing to them
Watching a dog dying with a lost eye
Watching a talk getting stretched out till there is no end
Watching a city getting old and a new city getting evolved
Watching an eye meeting with no eyes

Watching tiredness in the air
Watching a deep emptiness
Watching a city that has a different way of loving than a way that I like it to be
Watching myself getting involved with the eyes of human seeing the world. Souls of thousands with nothing to them drifting with a day that has gone by

Watching myself with the same kind of feeling
A day with nothing to it
And a year of complete foolish behaviour of a lost soul that is drifting around
Playing the guitar with a broken string
And watching my desires getting new heights

A man in the making inside his loneliness
Well, I don’t despise loneliness
I love it; I love it to the point that I somehow become the same things all over again
And Charles Bukowski creeping his eyes to show what he did

A narcissist

A complete narcissist

Alone.