In the middle of a storm I can observe,
what life whispers behind my back.
And as I see her turn her face away,
I can see my world turning black.
Now I see the shy lightning bolts,
appear in the middle of the gray.
Looking directly at us.
Just under sinister sheets,
the shackles for now quiet and dark,
waiting for murmurations in the lonely streets,
hearing desperate voices scream outside.