Cubicle days
Elysium - city of fog.
Your place is somewhere deep
amongst a thousand lakes
and silent forests.
Friend, have you a need of mortality?
Will you travel with me across the Nordic Sea -
to my home of ice and thunder?
To the dark woods where man
only visits once every fifty years.
I miss the silence. The closeness.
The intimacy with nature´s spirits.
I want to hear a chorus
of three black throated divers,
serenading poignancy.
I want to lie down on a
bed of pine needles and let
my soul drift away
across the pre-tundra.
But that is not here - nor now.
I am needed where I am - amongst
the dreams of little men
counting cubicle days.
Your place is somewhere deep
amongst a thousand lakes
and silent forests.
Friend, have you a need of mortality?
Will you travel with me across the Nordic Sea -
to my home of ice and thunder?
To the dark woods where man
only visits once every fifty years.
I miss the silence. The closeness.
The intimacy with nature´s spirits.
I want to hear a chorus
of three black throated divers,
serenading poignancy.
I want to lie down on a
bed of pine needles and let
my soul drift away
across the pre-tundra.
But that is not here - nor now.
I am needed where I am - amongst
the dreams of little men
counting cubicle days.
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