as people go through the dreary subways
too busy getting to their locations
they don't even stop and look into each other's eyes
and see that each person's eyes has a stroy to tell
the busy world, too busy for one's spirit.
the cold misty mornings, too busy trying to find
the nearest bank or the nearest coffe place
they don't even bother to know what's going on in the world
murders, sex, love, betrayal love's fail.
they don't bother, too busy, just too busy
to even recognize one's mind, memory or morals.
the world is full of unstoppable, ungreatful beings
who are just too busy to hear that world is crying to tell it's story.
 
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