Wishful thinking to explore to

find yourself and lose yourself

The fresh and wet air

Mocks the profanities on the square

Senseless dreams and hopes

No way to realise them

Unless we enter into its pixels

And give up on rest or sleep

The inner wheel is turning

It makes a whirring

That only masked my white-noise

When will it stop?

I have stepped on foreign land

The blades beneath my feet

A land upon we only gazed

Meets me at my end

Now I sleep.