Quarter past life

Nothing makes me feel
Climbing up my head
I cry and can’t accept
With a critical mind I watch and reflect

You lost grip
Quarter past life
You lost grip
Seems to late

Fear stops time I stare
No more chance to hide
Virulent establishment
I understand and simulate
But in fact I hate

You lost grip
Quarter past life
You lost grip
Seems to late

Concrete situation reminds of deep depression
Boiled on expectation heal my wounds frustration
Thoughts flew out and built them sound
A spiritual situation
Senseless conversation suggesting liberation

Quarter past life
Seems to late