I search the missing link
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that interlinks the tattered ends of a chain undone
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I watch the faceless shades passing by in lethargic state,
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dreaming of something to occur.
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I walk through canyons of concrete where the poet gets lost
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and a walking eye weeps, where no visionary dares to reside.
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And I sense Sisyphus climbing the hill with panting steps
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for this sad time weighs his run.
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In every waking hour
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In any kind of golden light
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In every moment of conception
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In every hour you try to feel
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always lies a sense of change
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I feel the sense of change as Sisyphus clutches at life
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but the lifeless shades of monotony obscure his brightest day
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Is all that's left a plain choise, to last or to fall
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on the edge of collective drab?
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Must we find fortune in constant revolt?
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In every waking hour
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In any kind of golden light
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In every moment of conception
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In every hour you try to awake
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-----------------
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The Waking Hours
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| Sieges Even |
