With this mist covering the site of the floor,
I want some rain drops to clear my road,
So I can walk freely and see where this path goes,
But well "who saw the future?" Is the only momento i got,
Need someone to tell me what its like to be old,
Someone who can explain me how everything unfolds,
Pressure of getting older then a carefree mind,
Tiredness which are clearly visible under my eyes,
The broke cup which still hold a bit of caffeine inside,
Will tell you the state of my mind,
And you say its all matter of time,
But how much, how much time?
Till when will I do these depressing rhymes,
I am ball of sadness,
Which cant not be contained inside,
It might be cringe, cliche or boring to you,
But I got noone who listen to me for even 1 hour from there time,
Its always about how smart, and mature I are,
Sometimes it feel like an excuse for them,
So they can tell the tale of how big there problem became,
I feel like my voice is lost in that mist which hides the future,
I little more then lost in this equal fair world,
Where one is out enjoying life,
and other is just sitting inside,
Writing some sad line.
