A recurring vision of her out on the lawnThe early
For the way my bird, for the way my birdSpots
Broken wheels cannot turn anymoreFor the sorrow of her eyesBroken
With sleepy eyes we made our way acrossWhere friendships found
As the landscape unfoldsAnd the skyline fades agrayThese ditches were
Unspoken were the words I felt as summer nights sub-mergeInto
Befallen beauty here to breatheTo seek position and to heedThe
She was a sinner like all other guardiansFor of her
Hollowed and holyBorrowed and brandThe map's not the mountainThe lay
Old hours rolled into a viewAs we broke steadily inI'd
Out where the time stands still and tele-poles stand grayAlmost
» More on Christian Kjellvand