Standing on dead fields
In a somewhat different way
Nothing here to gain
Nothing left to say
Home is what is left
No passion and no thrills
Metamorphic guests
The blades are spinning still
The thing that breeds inside
It’s fed and kept alive
Perfection at its best
An uninvited guest
CHORUS
Cathartic overdose
Passion through the nose
Paradox beliefs
Intoxicating sweets
Spinning in a cloud
Rotting in a ditch
Indifference prevailed
An inner spheroid glitch
Whatever can be said
Whatever ploy dictates
Whatever niche there is
Whatever joy awaits
A terrifying lie
Insomnia reversed
The breeze ran out of breath
Now the blades are standing still
CHORUS

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