I turn to writing whenever i am restless
when i cannot sleep when i am senseless
this is the only way i can find myself
things which are hidden deep, cry itself
so much i want to say but i am silent
as there is no one to understand on this barren island
when i want to lay my head on a warm shoulder
all i get is a pillow as the nights gets colder
a tear falls down my empty eyes
but there is no one to stop my cries
i can hear the clock tick, so silent is my world
all i do is bury myself, in work and work and work
a fish without the water,a lion without his den
this is how it feels,often, very often, now and then
lips without a sound, eyes without the sight
how do I reach for you in this cold dark night
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