When even my own shadow is leavin me
And the ground beneath me is cold
I try to run, I try to flee
To my memories, made of gold
I feel like a trampled autumn leaf
I feel like a disappointed thief
I feel like an Untuned Guitar
I feel like a forgotten scar
No one is reading my book anymore
A book I am still wrighting
and if soon my ink is gone
none will have notised me fighting
fighting against the loss of eternity
tired of all the growing
A tree in the desert of infinity
And without some healthy rain it is goin
To die