The extrovert feeling,
in my bones of loneliness.

Hurts me so bad.

When my phantom,
moves in mysterious ways,
alone,
in the backyards of my dark night.

But I can.

Somehow.

In some other distance views.

When my eyes,
are pointing towards,
and against,
the sea,
and,
the everlasting wind of life.

And!

In a flick of an eye!

I can see loneliness.
in some others eyes!

Theese other eyes,
can just not,
face life,
in it´s naked hard truth.

All the lonley,
so called hard eyes,
just want to,
live in their,
not ever existing dreams.

And all mad the dogs from hell,
are trying to hunt me down.

You and them,
are just trying to lead me in to the darkness.

You,
and them,
try to all,
lead me,
in to,
and behind,
all the weak facades.

Into the shores.

Where death of independence lives.

Into the life of leash around your neck.


If you want to break through my pallisader.

You have to face your own fear first!

Instead of all this!

There is to much fingerpointing.

Against my wonderful life.

But why?

Do not all the lonley eyes.

Fingerpoint themselfes.

Before they fingerpoint me?

I have seen through life,
since long ago.

I have seen all of them.

When.

They poured fuel at my face.

When I was down in life.

On the ground.

And when they,
threw the buring matchsticks,
towards my face.

And it all fired up!

And I felt the fire licking my ugly face.

So.

I have my wounds,
and my scars.

And they are real deep,
in my,
so called pathetic,
and ugly face of life.

So!

Do not point your finger at me.

Do not ever!

Throw the burning matches,
agaist me never more.

When you are not even,
capable to light up them to fire.

Do not try,
to show me wich path.

You want me to walk in life.

I know my path so clearly.

But?

Do you see your path?

In this.

Our crazy,

beloved life?


I very often think.

That your phantom.

Is still.

In the backroom of your life.

And you do not want to met him!

You just have not,
met your own phantom.

But you are all to scared.

To meet.

The black depths in your self.

But.

Just met your own fear.

And the path will appear.

So why won´t you take,

Your own phantoms.

And take them in your palms.

And hug them so hard.

With your own wet matchsticks.

And take them for a walk.

Into your own darkness

What is a walk in park,
with your fear.

If you declare that,
love lives in your heart?

But!

You are to scared.

For a walk in the dark night.

With me,
or,
your own phantoms.