The low stimulations I choose for myself
might never fulfill me again
It’s time for the system that leaves no recourse
floods all the roads and propels me by force
exposing new pathways till I am the source
You can ring every bell and close every book and
blow out the candle you’ll never extinguish the sun
Waiting for just the right knife
to carve my name into the moon
I had a map half drawn but I think it might be too late
I had a ship half built but I think it might be too late
Gone is the thrill of the hunt
too young to be buried in sand

SOUMETTRE LES CORRECTIONS