What I write's not mine, not mine...
Whom do I owe it to?
Whose herald was I born to be?
How was I fooled
Into thinking that I had was mine?
Who gave it to me?
Whatever the case, if my destiny
Is to be the death
Of another life that lives in me,
Then I, who was
By some illusion this entire
Ostensible life,
Am grateful to the One who lifted me
From the dust I am---
The One for whom I, this upraised dust,
Am just a symbol.
Whom do I owe it to?
Ingen kommentarer:
Legg inn en kommentar