Alone in this world Somewhere between dreams and reality A new dimension opens and He sees what noone else can see While the thing inside his head turns faster He hears some inner voices whisper:
Poor poet, you're too late Your words are all said Your poems are already made
Alone at a cemetary Where inspiration's all around Usual pictures that were already used Was all that he found While feelings won't change into distinct thoughts He realizes the modern poets faults:
Poor poet...
He sees it like a fading vision And he makes his last decision He takes and empty paper and then He writes his last poem:
Alone at the station with an empty paper in my hand Travelling through human thoughts, Dreaming away into the other land
While the thing inside my head is turning faster I hear some inner voices whisper:
Poor poet...
And suddenly the poets gone He missed his train but travells on