Sorrow of Success


A translucent tremble of light
Gleams through the monotonous circle of life
Clawing under the rubble of madness in my mind
Awake but helpless at the same time
For it is I, the madman screamed
It is I, who runs in circles, galloping in the streams
It is I, who makes the earth rotate, while it gently sleeps
Under a bridge of circumstance which will soon repeat
Dead like the leaves falling from the trees
Locked away tight so you can't hear the screams
We are all madmen, strangled to death by our own beliefs
Afraid to awaken and grasp a hold of some relief
Life is a formula, fatal to the flesh
our undying love, breathes into this reality of death
Our strengths much like our weaknesses only seem to repress
So we drown our sorrows and call it success

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