My soul is dancing on a pole, Shameless you are! - from near and far Spirits whisper.
My cry is a single tear, scrolling down on my cheek, My nervous tics, As time ticks, Disclose the fact That I still care, But I forgot what for.
My days are factored by gloom and rain. I still remain Just breathing.
All of my wishes Became surreal, What should I go for is a metaphor for a fool I am.
Did I suffer and die without knowing, Thus, am I touring through Hell?
Should I exhale Pains I hold and seek salvation? Can a creation Find catharsis While its soul dances On the pole, and "I" no longer exists?
Dance, you beloved baby-doll of my angels and beasts! Dance, you shameless...
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