As the moon is slipping away..
Silently .. almost unseen..
I draw a face in the mirror,
But I cannot see..
For I am the blind goat,
The flock which has been punished.
And he shall suffer .. he shall suffer..
And as I'm lying on the cold floor,
Dreaming .. dreaming away..
Slipping .. slipping away..
I find myself gesturing towards the man in white..
He smiles, ''Hello there little flock..'', he says.
And before I even realize he has spoken..
The man has dissapeared.
Oh how I wonder..
Wondering .. in the silence between weeping..
How I wonder .. Who was that man?
And who was that man ..
Who knows that I .. I am the flock?
Am I the flock?
Or am I a sheep?
And .. as the clock is ticking..
Standing still .. ticking..
The sound echoeing inside my head..
I'm thinking.. Yes, I'm thinking ..
Is it really that bad?
To wish for something .. that you cannot have?
Ticking .. ticking ..
And as I'm weeping .. and weeping ..
Are my prayers even heard?
Or .. Am I dreaming?
I must be dreaming ..
Dreaming .. dreaming away ..
But then again .. I say as I'm staring at the ticking clock..
Am I a flock?
Or .. perhaps .. uncertain ..
Am I .. alive?
Perhaps .. with questioning.. dead?
Or .. can it be that .. something in between?
Can that be true?
Then .. Where am I?
And .. Why am I?
A sudden question ..
Why .. am I?