You don’ feel pain, nor fear or regret,
you don’ feel anything when your soul’s dead,
it is as if you got a bunch of flowers
but couldn’t feel their scent,
it’s as if buried under snow
you wouldn’t even bother to shout for help,
or as if someone spoke, laughed or complained,
and you would feign to listen, even bow
and smile politely, but remain
indifferent

You don’ feel anything when your soul’s dead,
It’s as if while you slept
someone had robbed you of your self.