stop talking
the enemy could hear you
radio static
rustling from the woods

the dawn is far
red flare lights up the sky
the battle has just begun

gunshots fade as you pull the trigger
lock on one target after another
everything a blur, flashing images
for eternity
your heartbeat on a race eternal

take cover behind this tree
take a long breath
and close your eyes

stop crying
daddy can hear you
look over the crib
his smile reaches you

hold out your hand
your small, innocent hand

the dawn is here
home is quiet and in peace
touched by the first light
your carefree laugh carries on
on through daddy’s eternal sleep



We’ve been here before
Our bare feet on this soil
With our ship tethered on the shore
And our anthem sung in the cold

Who we were
Written in the stars
Through ages
Remember who we are

Drowned in hallways of time
Our promises, hopes, and fire
Our sacrifices
How they’ve been forgotten

Who we were
Heroes who don’t matter
Erased by the time
Among millions of lies

Ashes rained on this ground
Scattered bones won’t be found
Silenced dreams nobody shouts

We are here in the present
Thousands of years had passed
With our ship we sail through ages
Our anthem forever echoes in the sky


things gone wrong
thousands of heavy blows
you’re going for a freefall
a horde of broken bones

your ships sinking
your lights dying
your empire crumbling

businesses and brawls
decent hearts gone
took centuries to understand
when diamonds turn to sand

it was slow
your downfall
like a sleep dreamless

endless lies
conceited eyes
long before
satisfied ego

blood on your hands
hands that keep pointing fingers
overplayed concepts
concepts that annihilate innocents

this is who you’ve become
you are not fine

see your own reflection
this is what you wanted
this is your happiness

Dark Days

He walks during dark days. Upon glancing up, falls one feather. And then two. Six. Twenty. A hundred. These dark days are never ending. There is no sky as densely grey as the one above his head. Dead horses. Broken carriages. At the corner he turns. And there they are.

One day, the mad and the powerful meet. They both smile and share a laugh. A joyful, burdenless laugh. At exactly the same time, a man in exile is contemplating. What has he done wrong?

The woman in her sixties picks up a crying baby from inside a cardboard box. She smiles at him and gives him a gentle look. The baby stops crying. The woman then brings him home.

One card, a tap. The gate opens. She waits for the next arrival. Leaning on the dirty wall, she’s humming a folk song. Her home is not where she is going. Her home is too far away. Right now she’s just going to her shelter.

Some strange occurances have been taking place around the city of safety for the past few months. These occurances, some have reported, seem to be quite hostile. Three people were heavily affected by one incident that happened in an apartment where they live.

He keeps walking despite of what he’s seeing in front of him. A little boy, his body unmoving. He was pulled out of the rubble and is being carried by two men. An old woman in a distance is sobbing, her eyes deprived of light. All he can see is surrender. One photographer is taking pictures. She talks with a strong accent.

The strange occurances have stopped. Not because they want to, but because there is nothing left they can touch.

He looks up again. The falling feathers are gone. There is no sky as bright and soft as the one above him. The man in exile is now free. He left the world that has rejected him so many times. He left the world trying to fix itself, with the little help it has remaining. He left the world hanging.

For Our Country

The kings treacherous
Invincible vikings
Feel the ground burning

Bless us, mankind
Blood spilled for victory
In winter those soldiers died
On motherland they kneeled

When hearts go weary
Ill and rotten within
The powerful will speak
And we’ll march forward
With a desperate battlecry

In order to protect
One will slay
They hereby declare
By and by we always pay

Do not think too much of it
We’re at the bottom of the caste
Whom nobody will hear
Whose arrows are handmade

The people subservient
Invisible suffering
Feel the earth crying