It began with her gone
With my mischief done
It ended with too much booze
With too little to lose
You may think I’m depressed
And maybe you’re right
All my mistakes are confessed
But I’ve lost my last fight
Two- thousand- and- eight
Knockout in round eight
Two- thousand- and- nine
Behind enemy’s line
It was a horrible year
Hidden behind all my fear
I nearly exiled myself
Just like some literary elf
You may think I’m detached
And maybe you do know
All my bloody heart ached
But pain should stop to grow
Two- thousand- and- eight
Carried too much weight
Two- thousand- and- nine
I truly paid my fine
It felt really like hell
Being forced into this shell
Still I have to break out
Need a reason to be proud
You may think me all mad
And maybe that’s correct
But I hate being sad
There must be something perfect
Two- thousand- and- eight
I lost it straight
Two- thousand- and- nine
I hope to be mine
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem