| We play games and every move
|
| Is noted down as a subsequent cause
|
| And effectively chains our freedom and will to live:
|
| We settle in to simple survival,
|
| Hanging on our pleasures grimly…
|
| We must never let them go…
|
| Our prison walls are slowly built,
|
| Stone by stone and day by day
|
| No provision for escape,
|
| Entombed alive in safety
|
| And decay.
|
| Time sets around us in killing frames,
|
| Black border round our names.
|
| Our fingers lose their grip
|
| And the torch slips.
|
| The enemy for everyone
|
| Is everyone, inside —
|
| I feel the hand of security
|
| Creep on me with ice-cold fingers
|
| And crush my flower of freedom;
|
| I’ve lost the course of my adventure,
|
| All things I’m meant to do are lost.
|
| There is only one flame each
|
| To keep alive in the wind.
|
| But finally we snuff them out
|
| All by ourselves.
|
| We set traps and, in the end,
|
| Fall into our own snares
|
| And have nowhere to go.
|
| Time ever moves more slowly:
|
| Life gets more lonely
|
| And less real |