Shattered, ljóð frá 14. janúar 2024.

Pain in such a pitiless...

proud to be like every new.

Let me slide in looser's court,

lest they tame their real life goat.

Sailing on a sorry boat,

sitting on a thwart.

Feeling only emptyness,

everything is worthless, still you do...

Leftists have their longtime god,

looks are great, the smiling rod.

 

Signs and wonders waiting there,

war, but still a human frail.

Haven't found me, foremost lost,

framed and rattled, shattered, mad.

Squatting only sitting sad,

sailing for the worst.

Her I haven't anywhere,

Hell is near when storms and bitter gail...

Can't say what I am, the end,

always from the harder bend.

 

Not the same man, never was,

now I'm flowing to another cart.

Light as breeze I'm looking down,

life was meant as someone's fall.

Can't be if they aim it all,

only for the clown.

Without any pride or pause,

players roaming southwards, that's a start...

Surprised? Not when someone cries,

sorrow even when he dies...