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Your standing on the shore,

prepared to leave and explore.

Find out if theres more.

Your soul takes wings and soar.

Your perils counts to four.

Your pride has fallen to the floor.

You are rotten to the core.

Your heart is damaged and sore.

You are indeed a victim of war.

Where is the mask you once wore?

The devil has finally come to settle the score.

For the things you did before.
Are not easy to ignore.

You cannot do this anymore.

Go back to your shore!

Denna jul
har inte varit så kul.
Farmor var vi utan för första gången,
jag hoppas att hon tittade ner och tog sig en paus från änglasången.
Klappar har jag bara fått en idag,
men klaga ska nog inte jag.
21 år är jag nu, och student också.
Pengar är rätta takter för mig då.
Men man vill ju så gärna få sig ett paket,
något oväntat. Ni fattar, något man inte vet.
Maten var god och släkten är rolig,
men brukade inte julen vara mera solig?
Jag fick iallafall några samtal från hon den fagra,
å efter det var mina leenden inte magra.
Så lätt hon förgyller dagen,
jag får erkänna mig själv av känslor slagen.
Jag tyckte mig ana en viss känsla av frid trots allt,
därute med släkten i skogen där det är så kallt.
Vintern kommer med snö och vargar som yla,
och jag känner mig lugn i ensamhetens kyla.
Svårt att definiera julafton i år,
den var lycklig men ändå ack så svår.


 

To wake up at your side,
makes this life all worthwhile.      
You are my one and only bride.
Come join me, with that captivating smile.

I sometimes feel as if in danger.
Scared of what will happen and be.
Will I die at the hands of a stranger?
Or will I grow old with thee?

I can make you a promise to keep.
I will never let you down.
Not even when your asleep.
Cause I die inside when I see you frown.

I watch you when you sleep so sweet.
From your wonderful hair and face,
all way down to your perfect feet.
All this is what I yearn to embrace.

I gently move my hands to your hips.
Allowing myself to be lost in your scent.
Sensation, like lightning at my finger tips.
Too fall asleep and loose this would be torment.

She was only 16 years.
Without a trace of fear.
Walking the halls of her school,
making boys act as fools.
Accepted by her classmates.
In charge of their fates.

There came the boy.
He used her like a faulty toy.
Brought her down to her knees.
Had her begging please,
to let her go.
But it never went so.

Her father kneels as well,
teeth clenshing as if not to yell.
Scraping the dirt from his leg,
as he rises begging for his Meg.
They never found her remains,
only what was drained from her veins.