I don’t like how the fruit is high,
All day I want to achieve the day’s work,
I feel like a climber with no legs,
With the drive of a small children’s car,
I see that the sand keeps collapsing,
From the beautiful crystalline shape,
Never used to care much about it,
Now each grain makes me drop down in pain.
The world spins in a hurry, shedding souls in high FPS,
Like an old movie projector,
That drags its film through the light in a blink,
I hope it’s long, I hope for me,
So sad would be to end this movie,
Without a climax, without being me.

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