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.