War is a great adventure, every boy dreams about it
and writers of lies tell a story of sacrifices and great
feats of courage, the drama years ago.
I have done it again, sitting seven floors up on a terrace
and all I can think of is falling into oblivion.
It only takes few seconds, the air stream and the noise
and the blessed silence.
The failure of many failures and I'm living tomorrows
and can't remember the way home.
The wrapping papers of gifts not opened, how can I face tomorrow?
My cowardice is the only thing left I can trust.
Pre-dawn and the echo continues, this is not your world.
It ended years ago when you knew you are a ghost of childhood past.
The boredom is absolute.
Tomorrow, I will remember the way home and safe amongst books
that I once wrote, I shall be safe and relive what I forgot,
and wars will go on as they always have but I will not play a part
of life’s brutal carousel.
Seven floors up, in my house there are no places to fall.
