För att avsluta Allhelgonahelgens dysterhet råkade jag som av händelse stöta på följande textrad i boken som jag för tillfället läser:
"Tårarna har samma form som roddbåtar, sorgen och svårmodet sitter vid årorna. Den som gråter vid en begravning gråter inte minst över sin egen död, och samtidigt över hela världens undergång, för alla dör och till slut finns inget kvar." ( Jón Kalman Stefánsson "Sommarljus")
No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes
No one knows what it's like
To be hated
To be fated
To telling only lies
To be hated
To be fated
To telling only lies
But my dreams
They aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be
They aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That's never free
My love is vengeance
That's never free
No one knows what it's like
To feel these feelings
Like I do
And I blame you
No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe
Can show through
To feel these feelings
Like I do
And I blame you
No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe
Can show through
But my dreams
They aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be
They aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That's never free
My love is vengeance
That's never free
When my fist clenches, crack it open
Before I use it and lose my cool
When I smile, tell me some bad news
Before I laugh and act like a fool
If I swallow anything evil
Put your finger down my throat
If I shiver, please give me a blanket
Keep me warm, let me wear your coat
No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes
