My soul, riddled with bullet wounds,
Drives on the dark road of my life,
Towards the moon, pregnant and heavy with stoicism.
The headlights break through the darkness,
Showing me only the patches of night ahead,
Leaving me to imagine the sweetness of day.
Driving on this road of life,
Heading for dreams that do not exist for me,
If I crash along the way, will there be a notice that I am gone?
Dreams that seem as sugar to me like the day to my road,
Not to be tasted, not to be realized, not to be seen,
As the road will never been seen in the light.
Heart, blood-shot with crying, leads my broken soul on,
One after the other, the stops along the way end nowhere,
None can grant me my dream, nor guide me to it.
So the soul moves on, down the dark road,
No stops along the way coming without pain and grief,
And no dream within the sight of the darkness
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