What is the point?

If something have to be told, It should be something I hardly speak in front of people, or even to myself. Couple unclear paths appear, no one is guaranteed. Enemy is coming like hundred elephants running toward you. Dream becomes blur. Ironically reality is damn clear. Someone is leaving. Nothing I can do except playing twelve bars' blue. Summer is coming. Winter is yet to go away. Working consume my whole life, yet it is nothing for me. I can only play a hollow melody, with an out-of-tuned alto saxophone. I have a too big ear, and a too warm heart although this heart is cooling unexpectedly fast. Apple market is too far away and Women street is to crowd for me. Whiskey is too dry and life is too harsh.

Anyway, what is the point?