Why does my kind heart feel so much uptight?
Why does my sharp mind feel so sick and tired?
Why don't my fast eyes open up in time?
Why in the quiet night don't I sleep tight?
Just all these bad dreams, in despair I scream,
was it in a dream? Was it just a dream?
It's in vain I call from these heights I fall.
It's hard to climb these walls, hard to stand it all.
Grieves are more and more, like an endless sore,
open wounds and closed door, this I can't ignore.
I am ten thousand feet walking down the street,
wondering through the heat: who will I meet?
It was asked in future tense as my self-defense.
When there is no chance, and nothing makes sense,
I think it's not done, I'm not dead and gone,
I remember, John: "well, we all shine on".