It wasn’t Britain’s fault

Neither your ancestors’ nor yours

It was how it all started, with fire

And how it will all end in ice

Not in the two poles but in our hearts.

How we would die alone, a prophecy foretold

How Anne would die violently, how Henry wouldn’t remain victorious

Told before Samuel met Lilith, Adam met Eve

Now that you aren’t here anymore, God stands beside your bed

With luck and charm clear in the corner

Wiping tears from laughter as the other’s plan disintegrates

As I see the world collapsing

Not inscribed runes, dead men and mice or the proletariat

Should I end this and go home or think again to uncover another page of the long, old prophecy?

A mild haze where we all die

A green abyss to swallow us all

A candle light that grows to be the ignis we kindle in an eternal ritual, a beautiful dance

My friend with incense and Idun in his heart

Or the other with a monkey and pain as family

Or the one with the flat world in her heart

Which one will win and let us rest?

Go home and fear lest

We ever lie again, some habits never fade.