There is a frost around my elation
The celebrations and the laughter all around me
Seem distant through the glass of my window
The hollow figures follow me into the night
Serenading me with lights that hurts my eyes
The rise and fall of these days all feel the same
The name of the game is to blame the one who sings
Of things that make sense to the ones who listens
With precision to the words and sights
Of the things they write into meanings and metaphors
That open new doors to absolute trivialities of reality.