It’s not from the rain, nor from the grey sky
It’s not from the clouds, and I can’t really say I get it – but why?
I’m parked at a gas station looking outside
Where the world plays the movie and I keep quiet and hide.
Sometimes everything is moving, but you’re the one standing still
Every day seems exactly the same
Like the clouds are on repeat and
There is a fire but there is no flame.
There are no answers to be found; the lights keep blinking in the distant world
And all I can promise myself
is that I can’t find it here.