Waiting, dying, flying around

Waiting, always waiting because I know when I take action it will get worse.

Waiting, because I can’t die and should I die, I would be free.

Waiting, because a move by me would shake the world.

Waiting, always waiting because others know everything better.

If I just call myself dumb again,

if I just hide and play the idiot and helpless again,

at least only I would have to suffer in the end,

so I am not better, do I just pretend?

I should have stayed with my plans,

they were perfect and I shouldn’t have had a doubt in them,

but I know that it wasn’t supposed to be this way,

I was meant to stay.

Could I just know, that if I would live in pain for thousand years,

that everyone else could live, not holding back tears,

if my sacrifice would help with this,

give me the kiss.

But I guess it isn’t meant for me,

I would just waste a life, I wasted anyways.

I am not good enough because I can’t give what they ask for.

So I am only another one who is doomed to fail and be forgotten one day.

I am strong and I know for what I am stronger than before,

but would I know that it is not just my imagination playing me out,

I would be more positive about it, would feel like molten ore,

but each time I speak, it seems as if I should die out.

Let the people follow their Gods and their miseries,

let them feel good about their problems they glorify,

I am one of them it seems, so I deserve to die,

because if the things aren’t the way I see them,

there will no one be left in the end to cry,

so why not leave now – if all I follow is a lie.

I know it is not and never was,

but I guess I am not meant to be the one standing,

probably just another one to point somewhere in space,

until we die out or we finally face,

the ones we are and could have been,

be it the old man or a child, a teen.

No one knows, everyone knows and I should not exist.

I know I shall and should of course,

but for what, if everyone rides on their own horse,

as if I just stand in all their ways,

because I wanted to help – but feel just like the mist,

making lights go out and travelling harder,

as if I see no price, while everyone pays,

am a thief, while I feel like a guarder.

So the point is where I want it to be,

whether I want it or not, I will always see.

Could I just show them, they would all be free,

but instead they see nothing, they just see me.

Each time I try to tear my dreams apart,

try to wipe them out and destroy all my art,

if I would know that I am the only fool in this game,

I would know that I have to go, that I am to blame.

Instead you break every bridge in my way,

every stairway to heaven or hell,

so I am trapped and left to stay,

may I pay, so everyone else is well.

I know it isn’t the way nor good for us all,

but what else should I say, whenever I fall?

Should I feel good, sing songs about lies?

Just give me the paycheck, I pay the price.

And I know that’s not it,

I know what I see, feel and hear,

through all the others and their work,

would it for me, I wouldn’t give a tear,

but I should, everyone should,

if only I could, if only I could.

The sea, the wind, the forest trees.

The nature and warmth my heart sees.

The birds, the bats, the spider and cats.

Replaced by destruction, fear and meds.

Would I not exist, it would all be the same,

maybe less colorful and maybe more lame,

but what does it help if I can’t make them see,

a forgotten and useless tall bumblebee.