Waking up from the cold sky

The sun is not shinning in Geneva.
Sunday morning is not shinning in my soul.
The message this time, its seems like is coming from above.
My glory is somewhere close, may be, or just something odd.
Happiness will never come without an ocean view, its just a fact, and Im so cold.
My inner evil caught me, to wake me up, to save me.
I dont belong to the old beautifuls castles, even if they are very beautiful.
Im a soul of the sun, of the stars, of the infinitive noicy silence.
The winter is too long around the mountains, as well as in my heart.
A lake will never be an ocean is like saying that a monkey dresses in silk will never be a Goddess. And a diplomatic steady life will never be my source of happiness.
The sound of the people with a french kiss, the taste of the food made by Heidi and the permanent flog which blocks my sky are definitly not worth it.
There is no money, no job post , that can buy my smile.
I thought it could happened, I tried it hard and I sweated more than I could ever had imagined.
Now I want to change my plans for dreams, the lake for an ocean and endless clouds for a full sunshine.
I want my rainbow back, a full moon with my heart beating.
The price of cold loneliness and desperate boredom is much higher than the price of the uncertanitly of searching for a dream.
I choose the tears of failure instead of the shameful of not even try.