Lonely Grey Room
I wait in the Grey room every day.
Through sickness and headache,
Through dizziness and stomach ache.
I wait in there every hour, every minute, every day.
I think, what if there's reason?
Fate from my illness?
I think what if the Grey room will bring me friends?
Someone to wait through the tiredness and vain.
Through the sadness and pain.
Wait with me every hour, every minute, every day.
I think, what if the Grey room gives me time?
For writing and reading,
For working and rehearsing.
What if the Grey room will make me famous one day?
So I jot in my notebook and read all I can.
I spend every hour, every minute, every day.
But can the Grey room bring me relief, or fame or a friend?
Is the Grey room my luckiest fate?
Or is the Grey room just where I wait?
Is the Grey room where I spend my final hours, final minutes, final days.
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