Sometimes I dream that I am back in the day
When I used to watch cartoons and go out to play
Craft magic tools made up in my brain
And run around following my paper plane
Now I'm standing here, digging nails in my hands
Trying not to listen to my mother's commands
Rebeling against the modern world falling apart
Creating all these silly lines, so called art
Tomorrow I hope I won't be like everyone else
Who have never felt emotions so intense
Collecting all the wasted hours on the job that they hate
The only wish I want is not to experience that fate
And when my bones become so heavy and old
I hope my soul won't feel as cold
As the frost of life without any meaning
Or having ambitions as low as my room's ceiling
