I remember days
When I was inspired
By the beauty of a rose
Or the agony of heartache
But now my muse is stagnant
I hear no sweet sweet songs
I hear no soul rending cry

No breeze caresses my face here
No harsh wind blows against me
The air moves as a man in a cell
A slow, putrid circle of apathy

No great loneliness afflicts me
No great host accompanies me
Yet no sense of community is upon me
I have no connection between souls
Yet here I am
Yet I am here