[pale stanza : Gunnar Mothes / bullet art : The Gallery]

These golden fields of summer...
Well,I can smell it's entity
It's an omnipresent state of mind
I tried to flee the factual
And I wished to start anew
But I had to grasp I can't buy time

Not even bows of summer
Are warm enough to melt a soul
That is frozen dead beyond recall
To feel grow dumb true laughter
It means to watch pass by a life
But I cannot change the laws divine

As joy reliefs the pain
A wave of mature grain
Makes me perceive a warm bliss
No open eyes shall see
What brings eternity
Conduct me to the wakeless!