Something's wrong in the dark room The echo that disrupts every chord Every rhyme, every time I go to think or to write... Concrete seems too hard Blankets not concrete enough Both just like corresponding words All resounding with underlying charge Minds and souls eminating Forces, blending and clashing, Like music, major and minor Striking my essence, not my ears Everyday, the sense intensifies Sweet and sick, intoxicating Devoid of goodness or evil Merely there when I open my door I ponder, in feeling this, Do I awaken or fall further asleep? What provokes this change? My footsteps shortly linger stepless...