The Sparrow and I
Sitting on a bench, time passes by
Half asleep in a park, I dream I die.
I inhale a short piece of death.
Present of someone I didn't meth.
A sparrow comes by, he think less of me.
It bends to its beak, on a seed laying free.
I am nothing to it, just a statue or a tree.
It goes as it comes, the sparrow feels free.
I stare and await, Time still over there.
Not much else have to do, when you life has an
end.
Loneliness is companion, emptiness my state
which I salute every day, from a green wooden
bench.
Thoughts of me, of you, of every one I knew.
Feelings of don't, what couldn't be, but it
won't.
Regrets, painful sadness blinds my eye.
Smoke from nothing but a hot ash on my thumb.
I expected more, as you do,
I saw you,
you turn your face around.
No shame in be a man, as I do,
but it is,
if you nothing do to about.
We all think and hope for greatness,
even if we know they are emptiness.
Shadow times for shaded people,
I see many, they are helpless.
Be of them, you'll feel free,
not for much, a pocket fill.
I assure you, you'll forget me,
when you feet, keep you hopping.
That what I, went to suffer,
it would never come to you.
But remember, my good nothing,
as I am, so do you.
Cause there's something, no regrets,
when you'll know, you'll be next.
And for you, and for me,
here, in my wooden bench.
It will always be a good sparrow,
free to show us, we are death.
