it is to see a traitor go free
it is to feel a filter in me
it is to leave the lights that I saw

it is to ask: is it easy to go

in this dead hour

here with you
seconds are worthless
in this dead hour

when all is blank
minutes are worthless


how long will it take until
there will be room enough for hope
it is so sad to see

dispossession
it has become my obsession


it is to have a knife in my back
it is to say my soul got a crack