When

How many souls

Howl in this isolation,

Before this counting breath

Ejaculate it deepest sorrows,

Spiral from a reckless fight,

Punching in a shameful defeat.

How many dream chaser

Bend their knees and bow

Beneath this city light,

How many dream catcher

Lost their way and fall

As they march toward

Whatsoever, their promise

land.

Will you tell me I am not the

only one,

Waiting for the morrow promise

Ending in the same evening

hope.

That is a brutal way of

living,

A killer to the silent soul.

When will the morrow dawn

Not only put his vision of

hope,

But let me held in my hand,

And pull out the screen,

Allowing me to run my play.