it is to see a traitor go free 
it is to feel a filter in me 
it is to leave the lights that I saw 
it is to ask: is it easy to go 

in this dead hour 
here with you 
seconds are worthless 
in this dead hour 
when all is blank 
minutes are worthless 

how long will it take until 
there will be room again for hope 
it is so sad to see 
dispossession 
it has become my obsession 

it is to have a knife in my back 
it is to say my soul got a crack