Only when we feel a cold breathing at the back of our neck
A chilling, thrilling breathing at the back of our neck
Do we realize how stranded we had become
From our dearest home called 'Meaning.'
As I keep sleeping and eating, wandering and feeling
Away from my home, dear Meaning,
I turn deaf to my own hearing
Due to the music of the spheres now lacking,
I turn blind to my own sight
Due to the purest light now lacking.
But I do not care and I do not share
That much I consider fair
As I walk away from my home, dear Meaning.
The more I seer the waves of fire,
The more I delve with agony of desire.
I witheringly dig the ground - my own sepulcher
And the chilling, thrilling breathing at the back of my neck
Makes me realize how stranded I had become
From my dearest home called Meaning.
I stand in awe, I shiver and I smile
Beguiling my empty soul into repeating
The entrancing words in the cold breathing:
'I'm coming home, my dear Meaning.'
