Tired Man Blues (EN)

[Tired Man Blues (EN) (F)]

I stripped away the hopefulness. Maybe it feels like a confession whispered at 3 a.m., when a person realizes they've spent years feeding a machine that never learned their name.

The Mill... The Wheel...

The clock consumes another day,
Its hungry gears grind flesh to clay.
I trade my breath, I sell my years,
For passing praise that disappears.

I build their towers, stack their stone,
Then watch them fade when dusk has grown.
By morning's light no trace remains,
Just fresh demands and different chains.

I'm running circles on a wheel,
Chasing wounds that never heal.
Every summit turns to smoke,
Every promise ends in broke.

I spend my blood to buy more time,
Then lose it all to one more climb.
The faster that I learn to race,
The less I recognize my face.

The names all change, the game survives,
It feeds on dreams, it drains on lives.
The winners fall, the banners rot,
Forgotten faster than they're bought.

These walls are lined with hollow praise,
Dead reflections from dead days.
The trophies gleam, but cold and bare,
Like polished bones displayed with care.

And still I run, and still I burn,
Still hoping something waits beyond the turn.
But every mile, every gain,
Just loops me through the same old pain.

I'm running circles on a wheel,
Chasing wounds that never heal.
Every summit turns to smoke,
Every promise ends in broke.

I spend my blood to buy more time,
Then lose it all to one more climb.
The faster that I learn to race,
The less I recognize my face.

There's a graveyard in my chest,
Rows of dreams denied their rest.
Silent names on broken stone,
Proof that hope can die alone.

I hear the child I used to be,
Calling through machinery.
Every year his voice grows thin,
Drowned beneath the grinding din.

And I...

I'm running circles on a wheel,
Bound to things that aren't even real.
Serving shadows, praising dust,
Bowing to a God called "Must".

And when at last the engine dies,
And darkness closes both my eyes,
Will there be someone left to find...
Or just the wheel I left behind?

And when the silence finally comes,
Will I discover who I really was...
Or find there's nothing left to see,
When the race releases its hold on me...

On me...

Round and round.
Steel and bone.
All these years.
And still alone.

The wheel keeps turning.
The mill keeps turning.
The world keeps turning.

And I no longer remember whether I'm chasing it...
Or it is chasing me.

I am tired of this endless race toward an ephemeral, ever-elusive result. I am squandering the precious time of my life, my health and my energy, on things that will hold no significance by tomorrow, things that everyone will forget the moment a task is finished and something new comes along. And I will still be running in this never-ending, closed circle, trying to catch up with something that was left far behind me long ago…

[(c)VonRaven, 2026.]