Friday, September 25, 2009

Faust, Midas, Myself

Same dull faces lined up in a row,
Folding her arms, she lets out another sigh, why another day like this?

Their balding heads bobbing to the movement of the car,
Nodding in agreement, "I should fire my boss."

Another fowl smell travels up my nose,
I struggle to get a grip hold of the crowded train's pole

Wondering why must the crowd increase so rapidly
"Get out of my train!", I wanted to scream.

Solely, their aim was the Singaporean Dream.

I looked outside the glass
At golden shores
Golden ships and masts
With golden cords
As my reflection passed
I hated what I saw
My golden eyes were dead
And a thought passed through my head
A heart that's made of gold can’t really beat at all
I wanted to wake up again
I wanted to wake up again
Without a touch of gold
Without a touch of gold

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