Funny, they say, that youth can be danger
But what they don’t think about is more so;
Life’s a game and you, a meager player
Like the puppet, you’ve no time for leisure
Except when it’s granted to suit you forth;
Neither alive nor dead, He is the Sayer.
The chilled darkness of night bites at your skin
While above He watches over unhinged;
And you cry tears of great longing, unheard,
Because refuge in repulse is absurd.