A European-style man
Children, wanting things they do not understand.
I watch them, through eyes abstract and distant.
They don’t know what they truly desire—
Their gaze, hollow, captures nothing.
Too vivid to be called ice...
The city glows in color,
Yet look closer—
It’s aged, worn.
Too real to be imagined,
Too raw to be fiction.
Will you dance in joy?
Or stand firm, burdened by sorrow?
You may choose whichever you like.
But to understand—
I lack the mind.
Time, companions, and above all, will—
All are missing.
Inside me, nerves tremble
Like a harp being plucked.
But that doesn’t mean I’m depressed.
It’s something smaller,
Yet it clings to me until death.
A shadow, quietly resenting me.
Will you dance in joy?
Or stand firm, burdened by sorrow?
You may choose whichever you like.
But you must choose one.
I think only of things I cannot change.
And another day ends.
Even if I count the setting sun,
And write it down—
Time will not obey me.
My life is like a compass.
It trembles,
But never moves.
Will you dance in joy?
Or stand firm, burdened by sorrow?
Will you dance in joy?
Or stand firm, burdened by sorrow?
Will you dance in joy?
Or stand firm, burdened by sorrow?
Will you dance in joy?
Or stand firm, burdened by sorrow?
But now, having walked this far—
I can no longer choose either.
