69 Dead Birds for Utøya

Sometimes i pose a question to myself, again and again, but I can't find an answer.

You may say I got no sense of humour, but the smile has been wiped off my face.

There's no kindness in these eyes anymore, no ablazing vital spark,

And once again I feel so fucking lonely, although I am never alone.

Sometimes I feel like I got stones in my stomach, so heavy to haul.