Those are the lost words - congealed armure on my tongue.
Dust rides stirred air - a burden: this leaden afternoon
All air is stale and turns to ash with every breath
This limpid will is dismissed
Gathered amongst vague palls I pass unseen.
Grey is my grievance and grave my distress
A mere shilhouette I walk along the walls
Thus a ghost I became.
Hold this yellow dreams with meagre hands
Hurl thy empty shroud onto laughter and love
All talk seeps through your pains or songs
There you are: transparent to the world.
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