Man hold’s the fate of this world
In his two hands
But I’m
I’m just talking
That’s why, that is why
Why I got into the habit of babbling to myself
Am I, am I?
I foresaw something like this
But this is worse than anything I
Thought of serves me right

The poor little boy’s quite beside himself
My life’s no more
Than the life of a cockroach
How I hate what?
My ideas require it for their fufilment
I’m the follower hesitating
And losing the thread
Is that the way I could hide
My soul?