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Death (The Great Tradition)

de Christian Kjellvander

Live with me liver
die with that dire
holding beholder tonight
Wrap me in willing,
remeberance thrilling
ambivalence killing the light

Traveller, I journied for the truth of her
- abandoned it in tire
Wayfarier, the living got the best of her
and all those little eyes

Those dim eyes, those demised

Branded by failures,
while tripping on saviours
may no love be labored white spite
Granted a chance to recall what I did do,
even though I knew of respite

Mayflyer, passed through me just a week after
the traveller took to ride
Perjurer, my love for lover projected her
she conjured me with eyes

Those dim eyes, those damn lies
Those dim eyes, those demised

Follower won´t make the same mistakes with her
and bestow myself at last
Onto her I do; for with and easier
and never see the past

In those dim eyes, in those dim eyes

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