The Bugle of the War
Again and again I walk the wrong mile,
again and again I cross the forbidden line.
Trying hard to pour into a cup that never fills,
I feel like a mice running eternally on a mill.
I lay down tired; still like a corpse,
the corner of my eye looses
a helpless tear drop,
No more I ride on imaginations
that have me undone,
the more I writhe the more I'm stuck.
I wake up everyday to the bugle of a war,
that my mind wages against me and for.
It all comes down to this decision that
went bad,
It was a mistake I once made but now it
repeats itself.
I try to fade to sleep; defeated but somehow
not lost,
while the alarm sets itself to the bugle of the
war...!
