in my time of dying all i've grown to be   english can't define these feelings   i keep waiting   there's a strange time called trying that's vague like us   i can always try harder which means i never try enough      my mind is always crying   concentration, saturation   an aquaintance is so naive   or just a blind soul      fifty and a month   is so long for some      understanding becomes my snair   the harder i struggle, the more confined i become   does quanity stop at empty   does quanity stop with you      fifty and a month   is just a blink for me      fifty and a month