Cocooning in my room, exiled from life
watching all things pass, I am not concerned
nothing seems worth doing or to fix on
and I have no more questions, no duties to serve
Heydays, oh I had none
Hum- hum- humdrum

And I, I die slowly
in the grip oft stasis
in the grip oft stasis

Speechless each time the turn is up to me
I can hardly get myself into action
since lack of good sensations confines existance
weary of all gestures and the burden of feeling

And I, I die slowly
in the grip oft stasis
in the grip oft stasis