I’m out of ruses, no more excuses

Dear crows - this stallion won't remain your pawn

Victory doesn't belong to the broken prophets, make way for the poets of dawn!

Her glow would conquer sorrow, her lips would chase away the cold

My warrior queen, the womb of my dreams. There’s no revelation, she was the Hail Mary of my resurrection

I said it before: I wanted to grow old next to her fields of love. To drown inside of her, felt like burning back into life

Yes, it’s true - I wanted her as my wife!

She was the seamstress pulling me back from the abyss. “Dignity is not for sale” was the battlecry of her wilderness

What the fuck, a sitting duck out of luck. A shameless boy with many faces, but only one name

A homeless man from many places, with only himself to blame. He would cry with no end in sight, swallowing shadows, raining bonfires

...Until I danced with the soft touch of her clouds. No fears were worth dying for anymore

Years of pain shrank into oblivion each time she gazed at my tears, offering me stars instead

To be at her side was to be free - my heart was not a stranger any longer, although it was consumed too often by anger

The rhymes of Spring turned into unreason - a hunting season for the blind gone bold

Chain me to the rocks or give away my bones to the fleas, I'm no gift to the gods of violence

Patience! These words are not a lonely afterthought. They are not an ode to silence, or just another story about defeat foretold. I risked it all!

Be sure I would do it again, but mostly I miss her laughter

My warrior queen was never a lady of sorrow. I too was a crow; now I have to move on

I owe it to the friends who got lost in the maze. They cared for me without dodging the silver bullets 

Can you see through the black smoke of my beats?

I'm on the lookout for new feats. It's time to cross the last bridge - winter won't be our hereafter

Don't judge this book by its many ages, or its pages by your cover. I remain the lover of her dew, not the martyr in someone else's blues

I’m out of ruses, no more excuses. Tomorrow is my brother - make way for the poets of dawn!