Long before our bodies die, We die many quiet deaths- Burning in the furnace of grief, Sometimes in a blaze of joy. But in silence, in secrecy,
We die more vividly like birth. In search of rhythm or comfort, Or in the struggle to adjust, We lose pieces of our soul. Yet, the haze of loneliness Steals our dreams away- And living itself turns fade.
Yet still, we keep dying quietly, As each evening folds into night. Dragging the pale memories, We finally flee, with smiling- From this illusory journey, Leaving the entire world alive.
