Walther
Mitglied
Autumn State of Being
The most of what I did made little sense:
I have not been too fortunate these days.
It seems that I was wrong in many ways.
This time it’s tough, they will not grant dispense.
The clock rocks on, its ticking handle sways,
My horror ever getting more intense.
The soaking fog that wets my dimming lens
Is changing black and white to shading greys.
It’s chilling autumn, more so icing ages:
The faulty deeds are calling for their wages.
The summer wine has fruited sultry grapes.
The soaring pain is growing to outrageous,
The seconds slowly drip like dying stages:
And I won’t be the one that luckily escapes.
The most of what I did made little sense:
I have not been too fortunate these days.
It seems that I was wrong in many ways.
This time it’s tough, they will not grant dispense.
The clock rocks on, its ticking handle sways,
My horror ever getting more intense.
The soaking fog that wets my dimming lens
Is changing black and white to shading greys.
It’s chilling autumn, more so icing ages:
The faulty deeds are calling for their wages.
The summer wine has fruited sultry grapes.
The soaring pain is growing to outrageous,
The seconds slowly drip like dying stages:
And I won’t be the one that luckily escapes.
