Wandering

I’ve always wondered,
Wandered in my mind,
Why do we deserve,
To die, not to find :
A Kingdom in Heaven,
Walhalla, or a Hell.
Listen to me, friend,
The story I will tell. 

I was born nine-teen ninety,
Under the sign of the Goat. 
Call me not God Almighty,
Your pain’s not my fault. 

I have travelled the world,
On my mighty horse. 
I was my own mighty horde,
Carrying blood, smoke and force. 

I have loved, I have loathed,
And never did back down.
To my Evil was I host,
A smile adorned my frown. 

I was dead before I lived,
Was a slave yet I was free. 
The strong chains with which I heaved
Did not move my own tall tree. 

I wanted so much more,
And received the littlest part. 
Now my whole has become sore :
When did all my sadness start?

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