I am a wasted heartbeat, hiding in the night.
I’m running low on obsessions, I’m fighting my pride.
I am a Martian river, a chasm in dream.
An esoteric phantasm, a painted scream.
I’m living dead.
I’m living dead.
I am an African nation, left to starvation.
And I am losing my power, like a Jew in a shower.
And if breathing took will I should surely be
on the other side of reality.
I’m living dead.
I’m living dead.
I’m living dead.
I’m a hypnotic neurotic, my thoughts all alone.
I am agnostic heretic, in a world of my own.
I am an aging boy child, I stumble and fall.
I am alone in the night, death makes a child of us all.
I’m living dead.
I’m living dead.
I am an African nation, left to starvation.
And I am losing my power, like a Jew in a shower.
And if breathing took will I should surely be
on the other side of reality.
I’m living dead.
I’m living dead.
I’m living dead.
So I sat by your bed,
the tubes in your head,
all the things that I said,
the books that I read,
I played you music too.
What else could I do?
I kept wondering why,
as I watched you die.
Copyright: Ras Bolding