Regrets at the rim of soul, ljóð frá 2. ágúst 2022

So the queen is somewhere near,

say it out of fear.

Reign of terror, goodness gone

for good and nothing done.

Regrets at the rim of soul,

resting in the loss and without any drive.

Found no soul but fear is there,

fields of terror, men and women see the glaive.

 

Mirror, tell them, maybe face?

Maidens? Not the grace!

See just you if truth is told?

Tame and never bold?

 

If you win you even lose,

all the more who screws.

Sometimes war is worse, so much,

waylaid, gone, as such.

 

Now they see the ladies lost,

luck that has been tossed.

Culture soon will come to change,

cliffs at any range.

 

Lust is none and gay is good,

get them in the mood.

Hurt yourself? - Like hell you did,

how they put the lid...