Alone in this world
Somewhere between dreams and reality
A new dimension opens and
He sees what noone else can see
While the thing inside his head turns faster
He hears some inner voices whisper:
Poor poet, you're too late
Your words are all said
Your poems are already made
Alone at a cemetary
Where inspiration's all around
Usual pictures that were already used
Was all that he found
While feelings won't change into distinct thoughts
He realizes the modern poets faults:
Poor poet...
He sees it like a fading vision
And he makes his last decision
He takes and empty paper and then
He writes his last poem:
Alone at the station with an empty paper in my hand
Travelling through human thoughts,
Dreaming away into the other land
While the thing inside my head is turning faster
I hear some inner voices whisper:
Poor poet...
And suddenly the poets gone
He missed his train but travells on
