Nothing really matters, everything cascades.
I try to understand my inner editing -  
filth running out from my mind, posing as beauty.
I'm truly focused to the truth that I might be lost this time:
world feels like an asylum - this madhouse that I'm stuck in
is never gonna let me to get out, to get back in to life.

Outside of the corner of my eye I can see my shadows fleeing,
running quickly away from me. 

Time is moving fast and the months are counting the years away.

It's kind of ironic, that when I have almost gained my future now
my dreams do start erasing themselves.

Like the weather gets colder, like the leaves are falling.

It must be autumn now.