We hear these words in our minds
They say what we think we want hear
And you and I are standing
Right in the calm before the storm
You take my hand,
And I know it’s wrong
We can’t go anywhere from here
Nowhere good
But still I follow
When I know I’ll spend my life alone
Because I keep finding people like you
Yet you fill the mold
Of what I wish I could obtain
Speak to me in that foreign language
Because the words sound better
With no meaning
Although I know you know
What can become
But we still chased the fire
With such fury
And little ammo
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem