My appetite is gone, but still I eat.
My dreams have disappeared, but still I sleep.
The only path that’s clear is in retreat.
The only sound I hear is when I weep.
My poems have no meaning, still I write.
My legs are broken, still I have to run.
The pain is like a dagger in the night
that finds its mark and brings oblivion.
The songs still play their same familiar tunes,
as poignant as the day they broke my heart.
The days still have their nights, the months their moons.
The weeks still have their ends; we’re still apart.
I still believe I’ve something more to give.
And still I die, my love, and still I live.