They pretend that is sunday
telling me lies about
that I can relax
while they are stealing 
my money and my time
by telling me a lot of

They stole my life
in order to 
realize their
own dreams


Back in the morning
I am mourning
The loss of my middle age.
The children are growing fast
Soon the will be the hooligans
roaming the street of the city
Like we expected
In order to make the most
of being almost adult
(And they should, life is short)

We will curse them and make
their more miserable then it
could be
(by default and tradition)

We have seen this in our self
and now we know and demand
that the teenager behave badly
Like they are supposed to do
and that is good

Soon the war will begin
and their energy will be
channeled into more
destructive things

That mountain, the place
I wanted to show my son
might never be seen by him
if that happens


The night

Out there
I have fear of the dark forces
Surrounding me
I know they are waiting
in every dark corner
of the room
And under me is 
the celler 
where the rats live
and feed
Listening to the stories
told by long ago dead men
I hide in the living room
with my TV and Computer
But very close is the dead
having a meeting this very
night asking their 
that will never be answered

No way

This is me here
I am the person that 
other like to use and abuse
Just throwing the garbage
in my corner
Putting a small hate 
speech everyday in order
to get rid of all the 
I am here not very
strong so I take it
every time until
there are no more
to be said about it.


I wait in the bed
all is prepared 
but sleep is nowhere
to be found
I linger
the mind strolls around
the past years
and land on every
fault, every wrongdoing
I have been doing
Then I watch
Hour atter hour
until day breaks


That man never stops
he has not even time
to take breath 
Bla, Bla, Bla
all in italian
I understand some
to much
He is telling his
empty stories
to the swedish girl
opposite him
Talking and talking
I were once like that
Hiding myself behind 
a lot of words
A lot of empty words
Maybe he is not human
but a machine from another
Sent by God because
of a sin I did long time 
Or maybe he
Is just tormenting
me without knowing
It. My family once
came from Italy
and we are still
talking to much
according to swedish standard talkification index
Still after 406 years 
We are not swedish 
Still talking
Sorry if you come
here and expect
to be a part of our
closed society 
It will take you
another 1000 years
at least

The therapist

The Psychotherapist has his own power play
controlling you by playing on your feelings
and you need him to make your day.
He is making you feel bad
so he can rule you
but he promise 
Just cashing in 
his money from the state
day after day
he sits in his dungeon 
waiting like a spider
for his victim
Sucking them dry
of life
giving them some
comfort to dull their pain
And after 12 years of talking
we both know it wont be better
but he will cash in about 150000 dollar
put them in the sawmill he bought last
year while I will stay poor
and lonely a still without solving
or releasing me from the
anxiety that I carry like a millstone 
tied to my neck

Fear of the monsters

My mind is not clear
not open
The visibility is not fair
In the middle of the night
the street
Outside my house
lies so empty and quiet
I do  listen
because I think there are 
a chance for change
now when the silence of the night
has taken over
Lonely is our life
But I can live with that
I am not afraid to die
No in life we are
often by ourself
I fear to die
late in life
surrounded by equipment, monsters of technology
that makes us cling to life as if it were a gift
and not a punishment 

This is me

Alone, Lonely and not here
but still tied to the ground
No money
Always begging

With no hope of change
in sight
I wait
Knowing well my
that will keep me
down on the slow
route to the land of the pas