Reflections At Four In the Morning

All days are the same: morning, city, the crowd. Life's not going forward, it's moving around. And masks of all shades on those ignorant faces, A few made-up stories in cheap street newspapers, Sluts looking like stars, dirty queens of attraction, Gross idols of so deceptive perfection Are doors to the mind of the crowd, so hollow - They hear the call of the dumb and they follow. Now passion means lust, now freedom means violence, Stupidity prospers. It's due to your silence! The weak ones are searching for someone to blame, The helpless would trade for a minute of fame. A couple hearts broken don't cost a damned thing; The hopeless romantics would give anything - Despite having nothing - for love, non-existing. We've made up this concept, as something is missing. Believe it or not - I can cope alone! I never wished someone to call me their own. It's such a delusion that having you here Will help me get over this common old fear. What's frightening? Solitude? Fear itself! I hide beside you when I fear myself! But it is much better with you than the crowd That never goes forward, that keeps going round.