So sick and tired of being sick and tired,
So lost and so bruised
Wondering when all of this will end
When freedom will rear its brilliant head
All that’s wanted is a peaceful melody,
But a piano is nowhere to be found,
Nor are the sweet fingers to play its emotion-filled keys.
Oh player, where is your secret dwelling place?
Will this soul ever know blissful freedom?
Will this body ever feel wondrous rapture?
Lost inside these walls
Tolerable, not bad hallways
Albeit with them mocked with hells
Creeping, taunting ever so cruelly
Get me out of this place.
Falling asleep here,
Out of times mangled hands
Run away Runaway.
Hide yourself today.
04.24.10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem