I feel my restless mind will never match the steadiness of life.
Have it all been rehearsed? Or is it just a déjà vu?
It is just because I feel I live the same old chapter of a slow-paced book.
I make an effort not to believe that is all it is ought to be
I feel I am in a marionette show and even if I am the most resigned
The strings that move me up and down
The strings that take me back and forth
They will be the same to strangle me.