The morning is nasty gloomy, I can't wake up. Drinking coffee, I flip through the newspaper and think I'm going crazy. In very small letters on the obituary it was written that 6 billion people were buried yesterday. They write that it is our own fault, that we lived on auto-pilot. That we are each other's shadows to step on while fulfilling the daily quota. They write that the crusher of people is a perfectly pleasant machine, it is just waiting for the sun to explode and for us all to sink to the bottom. Man is a blindman.
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Morning was nasty gloomy, never to wake up. Leafing through the newspaper while drinking coffee and I think I'm going crazy.
With a very small letter on the obituary it was written that yesterday 6 billion people were buried. They write that it is all our fault, that we lived on auto-pilot. We are only treading shadows to fulfill each other's daily quota. They write that the human crusher is a perfectly tuned machine, we are just waiting for the sun to explode, and we all sink to the bottom. Man is a blindman.

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