Storms approaching
Flocks of Birds fly away
In search of shelter, fires arise
Life rusumes, but also falls apart
Getting used to yield
Getting used to yell
Changes provoke me inner need to grow up
And grasp the nettle for once
I'm getting used to yell
I'm getting used to feel unconscious
Like a wayward boy, With a wayward life
I'm a wayward boy, With a wayward life
Unfounded fears x3
The end is near x3
Calamities
And an inner blackholes
The art of the winter
Worships my goals
My goal is to stay alive, looks easy, but it isn't
To much to yield
To many to yell
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