Everyday, it is all the same,
The places I go and the things I do.
Everyday, it is all a game,
To see if I can feel a deeper shade of blue
There is a rut before me,
And there is a rut behind,
The inner walls grow taller than a tree,
Leaving the darkness' way the only thing I can find
There are times when I stop and sit,
To ponder and sigh
And there are times when my teeth would grit,
Or release a heavy cry
Indeed, what I see aren't any different,
What I do is redundant
I try not to be inflated with resentment,
But my feelings would become defiant
They would be, after spending years in this narrow hall
Why does everything seem so endless?
When does this end, above all?