Ill bury my downcast hours in transparent ink,
tie myself to the mast and wait here for the ship to sink.
Trough I know I've set sail on a wishing well.

The daylight is dimming out slowly with every breath i take
gasps of air become roaring rivers keeping me awake.

It gives me no time to think tings through
I know words always come before you do

But I can't find no poetry left in these lines
I've been trying too hard, too long, too many times.

It this what a biochemist would call happiness?
Is it part of some unmade promise i thought I could forget?

It it time that i let some air come through?
For now strangeling love is all i can do.

Yeah, I know you have mountains of poems in mind
All explaining how all wound will heal given time.

But these days are no longer my time to spill
an i know that by waiting, I'll make them stand still

I kept it as close as i could through those winter nights
but the ropes only tighten wound me as i try to fight.

there's no worth throwing stone in a wishing well
now I'm out of black ink and true tales to tell.

and I know it's all poetry, know they're just lies
but I'll still scavenge on what i find inbetween those lines.

I'll pretend there was happiness, fake to've felt pain
just to feel there's a reason to read it again. 

Moddi, en helt fantastisk musiker, som spillte en helt nydelig konsert på Martinique i går (torsdag 22 April). Det var helt nydelig, og jeg gleder meg til å se ham igjen, på hove. 

Moddi – Poetry