Merely charade, all, ljóð frá 31. ágúst 2022.

Feelings ain't true for the wife,

fletcher, off she goes, but wind does tell.

Make her love me, minutes pass,

more than good and well.

In my other life...

are they waiting for their hell?

Only mourning mass,

must touch someone, ground,

for the hellish hound.

 

Learned in taming, let her go.

Leverage till the wealth is in your hands.

Only women's words so shrewd,

wake up, for the ends.

Frail, so to and fro,

further, it's their hope she mends.

Must be in the mood,

merely charade, all,

cringing circus, call.

 

Silence may be someone's force,

seen her fleeing, loosing herself there.

No I won't speak, will not try,

way off in the fare.

Cain, the state? Of course!

cannot, they must try and share...

We are more than why...

wish for someone true,

if they all will do...