Every day, a journey into the cold,
carrying the weight of distant events.
The low-hanging sky above looms
like a threat on an uncovered head.
Youth is gone now, with the clear world,
demanding revolt from every corner,
from every dark place, every lost dream,
every desperate cry in the night.
Roots have been stripped from the ground
for feet to wander, hopeless.
Every day is a journey in to the cold
with the weight of distant events.