Paroles de Monologue

And I belong to the dying A race whose eyes see fog And whose path meets only choice Their story is a monologue Now you’re there and every view you’ve got is wrong or right in some imaginary world Though their mouth remains open They produce no sound Incapable of chatting, talking Their words come from beyond the ground Their words are spread out there Possessing the fields ahead Crude and rough in no matter known Their mind is their sleeping bed With my eyes I could’nt see your silhouette, blurry With my hands I could’nt reach your being, your surface fades, glancing darkly Maybe you've met some Tough invisible, they bark like a dog A Steppenwolf with no purpose I speak for all, but it remains a monologue