Few rules of the careless rapid streams
Without change of pace, as they sink some rubble in
It's the mainframe of the bitter squeal that you let out with,
Secondary values, disregard the secondary values
It's the copacetic sigh, isn't it?
You declare that it's debonaire, you admit that it's labourous
Had happened sometime in my youth
Have been happening since that other times, when you were dissipated
Will have happened in sometimes, by the time of your departure
Fabled means of cornered whims trade themselves for gust of winds
I yearn the tranquility of static clouds, but all beneath my skin is mere rush of turbulent doubt
Beam of clashing has sheepishly disclosed to me,
"I can't stand this anymore, sincere mourn for your fate enclosed"
Maybe, just maybe,
All the least that are kind enough not to fail,
These zealous arms, these meticulous arms, these fervent chants,
Where the ocean brings me, why should it matter to me?
It barely bears any form of tangency to me,
Barely any compromised concern, adequate enough for some gravity of proof
Minuscule enough, but daydreaming is an expansive reality
The least I look back in anger, for some restless ticks, instead of upholding ridiculous rules,
The more I will wail, the less I will wound
Waves bring each one of us chances, upon waves clash each one of us senseless
Upon reflection as it refuses us of imminent reborn
March in this ephemeral night, hope as universe alligns this time
"Or maybe another time, or maybe another time"
It's the static flame, isn't it?
You declare that it's significant, you admit that it's incurable
I'm working on it
- Conceptual Romance, Jenny Hval, 2016