I need to know if is really this what we meant for existence. If is this narrow way the ship we chose to sail on and to die on. I need to feed, to feed my mind, with a breath of a different kind cause I can’t I can’t stand the sight of the iceberg on my collision course. And the sun is cold, every morning. And every night is too long, in one size bed. Empty actions, empty choices, empty reasons, built on empty dreams. Like if something is missing or wasted, I’m restless but awake while you all already died because you find it easier than try to live. So, how does a whole life taste when was spent just running away? What will you tell yourself? What kind of lie are you going to find the last night of your life? There’s no way out, from passivity and compliance. There’s no way out, no way out, never thought to take a stand? So do you really want to be the richest one in your graveyard? What the hell are you gonna leave? A pretty tombstone or a face to remember? I have the feeling that everything you worked for and everything you’ve prayed for will be nothing but cold comfort in the last night. In my grave, I want to leave to my worms spicy meat.