Trapped in the White Tower again, in the Black Room.
This time I got the key to both sides of my doom.
I could leave whenever I want, silent or loud,
But my heart is distracted by every little thought.
Bob Dylan is with me in the melancholia of mine,
I do not understand everything he sings this time.
But he seems to understand it all I’ am assuming,
I figured out he must know about my rooming.
One hole day I held on the mirror of my PC-screen,
To feel the tracks of some familiar unreal scene.
One day seems like the eternity so roomy and vast,
When you’re sitting lonely in the deep of your past.
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