Clouds,
snaking silently across the sky,
the howling wind is rushing by,
a bit like life
the reason why
I lay awake and listen to Bizet.

Resistance only tires you when
the end, inevitably blue
the colours always stay the same
grey, black ruins on my window,
what's the pain you feel when
Winter comes, when
daylight runs away and
snaking silently across the day
the clouds all seem to laugh as if
to say,
We're free as birds but have no wings, we
fly and you can only pray.

The winds that blow,
the trumpet sound, the trenches we dig,
underground,
I lay and  watch the clouds that fly
to me they're still snakes in the sky
and I remain
unsatisfied,
a bit like life and
then it died.