Satellized.
Like hollow
Bound to the line and D is my mark.
Fire.
If I had a flame thrower, I'd turn the city to ashes
I'd burn those cold lights into the city of warmth – even for a moment
For I have known cuddlier endless winter nights
And parties on parties on parties at the Amba**ador
And dark lights in the white room - call it Magenta or Opera
Drunken boats swallowing the Baltic under the whole Moon
And maritime rugby
And I dipped into -25°, I was still free
How many motions? How many emotions?
To the point of return
But shuttled back like shackled back
Your brain grows resources of resistance
Faux-semblant of apathy
You feel in secret
You transgress the mold
You're failed anyway
When you're not escaped
I got a break, though
Ø-bros lyse
Helles hus
Walking by the ghetto side of things
'I'm straight'– to the core
Crossed borders and rivers
And an island was my home
And there were blonds up in my drink
Endless streams of sleepless nights,
But one dream life
Almost…
For I got close but never got through
Mattered but never bounded
And ultimately slipped into uselessness
But I chose my sentence
Shuttled back and shackled back
Game's over
– But I ain't