There’s always something missing
I just can’t place a finger on it
There’s this feeling of no satisfaction
I need it faster, better, different
You know books?
They used to be more colourful, like life
Now it’s just static, black and white on a page
I’ve seen it before
Different shape, different place, but definitely that piece
I’m travelling, but I’m not
What used to interest me, bores me
Time is of no essence because I transcend it
Or did society changed me?