The Not New Song

It is a die that makes me die,
And my hair I cannot dye,
Allow white,
For the Typhoon centred eye,
For the years that gradually weigh,
And seems right.

More and more, per Spring
Which has lost verbality,
Fighting in a rainbow ring,
Hoping for one fatality.

It's a knife that sharpens life,
Against weight, I cannot strive,
Deaccelarate,
For the Gorgon's promised head,
For all the dreams found dead,
And words inflate.

On and on the era is gone,
Still alive in our mentality,
Nothing new is turning on,
Only jokes for the reality.