And as soon as I close my eyes tonight,
my dreams are filled with darkness.
There’s no way of escaping this;
the emptiness will always stay.
It might change a little, every now and then –
move around inside of me,
or even disappear for a moment
when happiness invades my being,
but will always eventually return.
And what’s the reason for such unhappiness? –
you may ask me in the quiet night,
when moon shines bright above the country scene,
these tiny stars the only friends to fill the void.
And I’d answer you in riddles –
stories filled with anguish and, perhaps,
a few white lies mixed in with the rest.
Sitting there, in the calm quiet wilderness,
my heart and head one gigantic whirlwind on their own,
I would patiently explain it all to you, perhaps,
or maybe shrink away from your gentle touch
to escape in the world of secrets built inside my head.
A desperate need to hold on to something,
something that so surely will not hold,
and that eventually collapses in on itself;
something that is impossible to hold on to.
And still, those thousand tiny stars
above my head would keep me there,
lead me up the marble stairs
where you would wait for me, patiently,
waiting just to hold my hand,
like I’d hold yours, if given the chance.
Time is impossible to force into a shape,
a form most comfortable for you to keep.
And yet I promise you, and myself, and us,
that I will try, and I will succeed,
or I will watch, up there, on the stony steps,
how the whole world crumbles under me.
Watch the whole thing burn, break, turn to waste,
and be happy that I’m up there seeing it.
Then it would not be just my world in chaos,
but all of it, and all of it in waste.
Yes, that would be my dream as if a dream
would give me what I need in reality.
Because sitting here, under these stars,
and under these broken marble stairs,
my broken life will be a broken memory.