My days are short, but my nights are long
I know that I must, but I can’t be strong
I keep assuring my lover that nothing is wrong
But my voice is singing the black swan’s untrue song
I am trapped in a world where I don’t belong
I am free of fear, yet the pain prolongs
As I escape the madness of heaven’s throng
I tell myself that it won’t be long.
I fall like a raven who lost its wings
Embracing the impact and the pain it brings
A rotten soul, obsessed with material things
Consumed by empty promises and counterfeit wedding rings
Was happy once, but bliss comes with strings
A lone mourner at my funeral sings
“Behold, the most lonesome of treacherous kings”.
©Alexander Berg Mattsson, 2012