Good that turtles don't race with men,
For I won't like losing to them,
In the race to get to the finish line,
To get what you want before the end of time.
I can't even reach the line,
No idea of it, can't see any sign,
I lost long ago what I want today,
Left long ago, the glorious way.
The path I walk is a dark one,
Lonely and hopeless, without the sun,
Haunted by the ghosts of the past,
Remember the day when I breathed my last.
In this world that seemed so dark,
I could see my grave marked,
Little did I know of a place below,
Darker and lonelier than one's own shadow.
The day in the difficult season then,
Hanging above the dark den,
Clinging on to a thin rope,
Fell off it when I gave up hope.
I regret the moment I took the dive,
Let go of the rope keeping me alive,
Here below, for death I strive,
But death too seemingly is afraid of the dive.
On darkness I feed, to darkness I talk,
Wet with my tears is the path I walk,
I sometimes sob, sometimes I cry,
And hope in silence that I really die...