Have I grown cold from the labors of the past
that could bear no fruit?
Or am I burning? Do I have fire inside?
Is this the fuel that brings me to do
All the careless destructive things that I have done?
Shadows; shadows, they follow me round every bend.
Shadows can't see the mocking face I make at them,
But still their soft dark bodies convinces my mouth to reply.
Reply! Reply.
I reply.
Shadows of the past,
Dancing on my back.
Shadows won't leave.
They sleep and mate inside of me.
Shadows of the past,
Timidly I ask-
What could I feed you,
That you might give me peace at last?