and the dinner and the wine.
I roam around in time,
in time, I roam around.
I feel so light, I babble, I whine,
I whine as I write these empty lines.
merely to fill in these lines, I write.
I do not feel a thing, I mime,
I mime myself in search of time,
in time, I search my grand sublime,
sublime that I am not able to find,
and so I stay with the wine and I dine,
and I eat my dinner, and I have my wine.
I couldn't understand the use of "I mime".
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"I mime" because I don't know how to behave, so I act in certain ways, copying others, my actions ain't original. I'm a sort of puppet, perhaps at the hands of fate.
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