Defected I ask myself just one question: Why do I live, for what I breathe? There's no answer, no suggestion. This grey and worthless job Brings no satisfaction. I teach, but who? Another stupid generation? Where are the feelings: love and passion..? Somewhere in the darkest corners, You might find them still, Covered with brown dust, - Left in senseless race. In the end you just fall down, Breathless, tired Of this dammed #life. It makes me want to shout, Shout out loud: "Stop it! Stop this madness!". People call it #life, Well, mine's defected..
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