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Looking at myself, I see nothing
Felix Komarov
Looking at myself, I see nothing.
The mind creates thoughts mirages
Moving the pieces of the eternal,
Wooden lies.
One game to another.
Black chip, white visible.
But who is watching the Ghost game?
And whose fault is it?
Who is to blame, there is no end to the game
And the pain and joy on one Board?
We will Opdam like leaves in October.
Get out in anguish.
Spilling chips again they will gather.
And dragging a pattern coming years
We set a cunning fool,
Forgetting the answer.
Looking at myself, I see nothing.
The mind creates thoughts mirages
Moving the pieces of the eternal,
Wooden lies.
One game to another.
Black chip, white visible.
But who is watching the Ghost game?
And whose fault is it?
Who is to blame, there is no end to the game
And the pain and joy on one Board?
We will Opdam like leaves in October.
Get out in anguish.
Spilling chips again they will gather.
And dragging a pattern coming years
We set a cunning fool,
Forgetting the answer.
