Are afraid of
themselves
They hide in a
hug of society
Wanting to avoid
dialog
Inside their
souls
They accomplish
everything
The society has
dreamed of
Soon they
realize
Houses, cars and
money
Are not someone
With whom to
talk
When they become
aware
That happiness
is another way
Years are lost
They feel like a
ghost
In a haunted
place
They want to
turn around
Follow the right
path
But listen how
They complain
instead
Under the
artificial color
I have many
grays
Catching dreams
Is for
youngsters
I will just be
waiting
For death
What I want to
say
To that pathetic
excuser
You are making
me mad
Even if you were
One hundred
years old
To meet the end
You could wait
Until one hundred and
ten
To throw ten
years
In the garbage
bin
Certainly it is
a sin
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