I sail around my island of darkness,
There’s something about this stream.
A way of circling round and round,
That soil being gloomily themed.

When I come closer to the land,
I can hear the wind speaking subdued.
“This is the home you are longing for,
This is safe, pleasant, warm and good.”

I could have control over there,
And let my thoughts rule the land.
But to be a ruler of my own body,
There’s still suicide I’ll have to withstand.

After endless circles of sailing,
Around my island of the grasping past.
I now go look for inhabited land,
Where my warming hand is waiting at last.