As I wait in this loud silence imposed
While the war makes soul of our hearts and brains
I learn
I weep
I tell
I can't explain to myself this crave for suffering.
It must be a habit
Imposed
As well
Made
As the hives of bees.
Could I accept the miracle?
Was I supposed to hurt him more?
I can't explain myself this crave for suffering.
It must be a bad habit.