Carry this, ljóð frá 9. september 2019.

Older stones are rolling through the rust,

rakes of morrow, so I find it gone.

Gather if you must some musk and dust,

maidens left them, wins together done.

 

Love, you finally made it, just like me,

moulds and clays and what I couldn't lead.

Memory of the maidens, gardens, free

must be under rhythm, and the beat.

 

Past of glory? Hardly for the herd...

how I ached for groups to drive me on!

Grateful when I heard the wisest word,

womanly, and love was almost done!

 

Carry this, so young girls feel the fame?

Further long and wisdom makes no point.

Like he said, so lost, and best, the name...

Likewise hidden, to the famous joint.

 

Levels many, ain't the only right!

All my deeds to people want to give!

Up to them if first they need the fight!

Fossils too must obtain, smile and live!

 

Rivers deep are rivals for my need,

ruts I tread for mankind and the wife.

Saw the one man, so they leave the greed!

Since the woman left me once a strive!

 

Times of lust are gone and ground is near.

Gears I need, to make it heard and known.

Children, never lose the fright, the fear!

First the ground, and genarations sown.

 

Baby let me cry so pain will pass!

Pride was not an issue, wrongly thought!

Lonesome only in the crowded mass,

all is done, it's finished, left and wrought.