People are ill with boredom, Weary of life, The house is full, The table is loaded with food. There’s never a ‘new’ day. Everything stays the same , day after day. The walls are thick, always cold. New life never enters in.
People are ill with boredom. They no longer even see the flowers or the birds. Their parakeets and their overfed dogs Are as dead as they are.
People go out at night Till the early hours of the morning, Then sleep when the sun shines.
They go to the doctor, To the psychiatrist. They never feel really good.
People are ill with boredom,
Weary of life,
The house is full,
The table is loaded with food.
There’s never a ‘new’ day.
Everything stays the same , day after day.
The walls are thick, always cold.
New life never enters in.
People are ill with boredom.
They no longer even see the flowers or the birds.
Their parakeets and their overfed dogs
Are as dead as they are.
People go out at night
Till the early hours of the morning,
Then sleep when the sun shines.
They go to the doctor,
To the psychiatrist.
They never feel really good.
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