Quarter past life Nothing makes me feel Climbing up my head I cry and cant accept With a critical mind I watch and reflect You lost grip Quarter past life You lost grip Seems to late Fear stops time I stare No more chance to hide Virulent establishment I understand and simulate But in fact I hate You lost grip Quarter past life You lost grip Seems to late Concrete situation reminds of deep depression Boiled on expectation heal my wounds frustration Thoughts flew out and built them sound A spiritual situation Senseless conversation suggesting liberation Quarter past life Seems to late