coldness overtakes the land,

imagination locked away.
The grave grey pallow of passing faces,
tell of heavy hearts of stone.

A figure stands within a crowd,
he wishes for not one more day
and through the sound that so surrounds him
silence chills him to the bone.

In seperate worlds walk he and they,
as dark and night to light of day
and even though they stand as one,
both live a different way.

Yet still some madly mocking spirit
howls and screams for his attention,
point out the way, the passage
to this grey forbidding place.

Trapped he fells, drawn ever closer,
though 'twas never his intention.
Drawn forever down and deeper
into the night
    to the malace and the spite,
    to the unending fight of the hated rat race.