it is to see a traitor go free

it is to feel a filter in me

it is to leave the lights that I saw

it is to ask: is it easy to go



in this dead hour

here with you

seconds are worthless

in this dead hour

when all is blank

minutes are worthless



how long will it take until

there will be room enough for hope

it is so sad to see

dispossession

it has become my obsession



it is to have a knife in my back

it is to say my soul got a crack