I'm confused,
Am I the Ying?
Am I the Yang?
I'm entangled in the eternal spiral of the Tao,
Always trying to strike a balance,
Between my soul and the void Cosmos.


When I write, I write down symbols,
Not of the Nordic Farthuk runes,
Or the symbols of the Icelandic goons,
But symbols of my soul deep pains,
Of all losts and all my gains,
Of all my labour which were in vain,
Okay, maybe Life is just a game.


When I stop writing,
My thoughts don't stop flowing,
When my ink stops flowing,
My spirit don't stop glowing,
But my heart isn't healing,
I need to flush my pains out,
Through purgent words,
Yet "faceded" with living words.


Okay, I have read the scriptures,
And even the Analects of Confucius,
The I-Ching,
A book of Adolf Hitler, I think,
Trying to search out Life biggest answers,
At 15, I had withdrawn from the society,
At 16, I was probably a psycho, I swear it,
At 17, depressed, hopeless and useless.
At 18, I'll probably be better,
It's a Bernoulli thing,
One or Zero,
A failure or an hero.


Lord, I do hope and pray,
That you make your grace rain,
Both at night and day,
So my labours won't be in vain.


Lord, I wanna be my old me,
That little boy,
Who wasn't wondering where his dad has gone to.