Tuesday 11 October 2016

Svante No. 10 song

SVANTE’S BLACK SONG

I’m so tired of myself and all my stoppings.
And my body causes me dismay.
What use is it my liver’s size keeps dropping
When my belly just balloons away.
I’m prone to self-hating
Need a touch of overrating.

I’m fed up with my name, my thoughts are fleeting.
And my prayers the Lord will all ignore.
What use to me’s a heart that goes on beating
When there’s no one it is beating for.
I’m prone to self-hating
Need a touch of overrating.

I regret all my past, my birth’s distasteful.
I should not have seen the light of day.
And Nature’s been a damned sight over-wasteful
when I wasn’t strained off straight away.
I hate my self-hating
Need a touch of overrating.

I’m so tired of my voice and my handwriting
and my brain is leaden, tired and worn.
It would be oh so nice and so inviting
to forget oneself and be reborn –
be freed from self-hating
with a touch of overrating.



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