Lost Gnome, ljóð frá 19. september 2019.

Snow is falling hot for her.

Hellish burdens gone to waste.

Dresses lost with sheepish shirr,

shared in rocks of past, no more.

Didn't mention whirring war.

Wide you come, they need that taste.

 

Sponsor, tell me, speak so kind,

spoonbill for the one to look.

Liquid crystals left behind,

litchi blooming, singing bird,

for the world is further heard,

frame them not with bitter schnook.

 

Hasten to the harder swift.

Half of that is lost at sea.

Coming from their crowing rift,

cabins left us without rights,

Beauty queen in bitter fights,

better find them, someone... me...

 

So you talk but tell not me,

tales of youth just gone by pain.

Forty years and from that, bee,

fleshy beauty, waters call.

Will you lose and fail to fall?

For the boy, oh not in vain!

 

Make him love you, more you give!

Merits see and find your home!

Take the chance, you lust to live!

liger proud, you make that day!

Kiss her, wrong they soon will say!

So it's only dust, lost gnome!