The Hunt

Where do I run
how can I hide
lost between the hollow tree´s

calling in all despair
crawling beneath the lines
so frozen in those memories
of mine

I can´t see through the wind
that burns within my eyes

where should I run ?
where should I turn ?

When all you left is broken glass
piercing in tender paws
but I keep on walking

walking into my darkest part
I fed on my broken heart
swallowed all those bitter parts

Wondering how far I could walk
how long I could last
buried under fallen hearts

Fish

Beneath the bridge
cramped in leaves and ash
dripping from the seal of broken glass

Am I just a fish
without any feelings ?

I am trapped
crashed my human hands
like a piece of trash

Am I just a fish
without any feelings ?

Let it be true

If it be true
To fill mine edge
Within thy body
Let me rip out those
Doubting shades of harboring
insensitivity
senseless in true captivity.

Once as my name was cause for delight and trust,

Even though you loved me not,

Was the hour I treasured most,

Paid with pain within the cause,

Do not mourn me,

For I am not dead,

Do not please the king in me,

for I am the crown-less king,

within the hollow tree.

Shades

Sweet and oh so slow
falling like a piece of snow
when drops of light
drown in shades of night

tender voices softly whisper
in my heart there ain´t no glimmer
dancing sparkles softly shinning
touching until your head is spinning

a street of sand
in the middle of the land
where lonely souls met
and the sky humbling wept

Hunted House

Empty rooms
dusty air
full of memories
still so clear
heavy lies the air
dirty is the lair

shadows are wandering
unseen and unknown
like a whisper
just a hallow
touching with tender feathers
bearly through cold appearance

full of love and hate
buried into the walls
they are grabbing for your heart
pulling on your mind
run as long as you can breathe
only the dead are here to release

Heavy Rain

Standing in the mud,
crawling through the mist,
the screams of dying, crying men
flowing through the air,
once more they run,
once more they throw themselves against the breach,
under growling thunder of the night,
while limbs of legs and bones,
crack beneath their dirty feet,
running towards pain and honor,
thowing their bodies into waiting swords,
here on the field of Azincourt.