I am masked,
Shrouded by the front line of the chorus.
Voice tatterred, shrouded, unheard.
Any vocation would be too absurd.
Undeniable uncerainty of where I am going.
Which road do I take,
is it even worth knowing?
Why do I even think about asking?
Time might just be too complex for me,
but to put it simlpy,
every moment past, is gone,
and at what cost?
If I just spoke up, what could have been lost?
Nothing. Being silent in urgency is just plainly meek.
I am nothing more then a man who is masked,
too dubious to speak.
This poem is about: