You feel like the gray background of the red dot,
walking with the crowd at seven in the morning,
riding the same train,
eating the same lunch,
watching movings that inspires,
and you think you could change the world,
but you can't,
heroes don't live in this boring ways. . .
and then you stagnate,
and then you feel desperate,
and then you do nothing. . .
you just wait for your fate. . .
and be like everyone else,
lying on their grave.
You didn't even make it to the newspapers obituary,
You didn't even appear on T.V.
You haven't even composed a song,
or painted a masterpiece,
or cook a new food,
you haven't contributed to the world. . .