Melancholia
Give a weight to simple things
I want to bne among the sheeps in a field
Taking time to dream
My heart weight of beeing numb
All the time I feel useless and lifeless
I think about Friedrich's painting
I wander in the ruin if an old manor
searching in vain real comfort
My hands are so cold
As if my strength went away
Sometimes I wish to contemplate
Ivy of the ruins
And my death in a couple of minutes
But I realize how fool I am to call it upon me
As Keats said in "ode to a nightingale"
Do I wake or dream?
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