Here we go, the same old wooden chair, the same old screen.
The same routine so nerve-wracking, but I'm here typing.
Three to four, I just sit there to see what's on that for sure.
Five to seven, staring at my screen till eleven, because there is something.
Eight to nine, I start packing, my eyes are swollen.
Ten to Eleven, my energy decreasing, but still I'm up because there still something.
I'm getting tired, depleted, in my bed lying like a dead fish waiting to be salvage.
Every day its a routine, like a cycle in your ritual wishing for something but they ain't give you, but nothing,
Nothing but the reassurance of your feeling.
It always starts at six that I got up, tries to get food for my hungry soul to fed up.
Tell me what is that something that lingers all the time.
In the morning I breathe.
In the afternoon I try to nap, it set's there at the top.
In the evening it hugs my back, scratching out my soul to sulk up.
Something that starts with something but it feels like nothing.
Nothing that leads me into the place of nothing but a f*ck up feeling.