Holy Night

Et af mine mange engelske digte og et digt som er symptomatisk for hvorledes jeg ofte skriver mine digte.


1. Holy Night

This holy night

Oh this holy night

In sight of gods and men

An ode to all that was

This dreamy night

Oh this dreamy night

The end is nigh yet the sun has risen again


Empty words

Oh, these empty words

Cursed they shall be

Remember these empty words

As we paint the world red

Oh we paint the world red

In sight of gods and men

This our ode to them

An ode to all that was

The eagle and the cross


Fog has risen

Oh risen it has

Has she risen to take us with her at last?

The children are running

Oh the children are running

Yet what looms in the night?

It shines oh so bright

The children are running

Run is all that they can

For the shadows are grooming

Thou must not count the sands


Frozen world

Oh glorious frozen world

In which dragons once reigned

Where fire swallowed all pain

Where have you gone?

Oh vengeful one

I keep running

The children keep running

Yet nowhere do you hide


The wolves are howling

Howling night and day

The owls are escaping

For that is all they can

Where have you gone?

Oh my vengeful one

I look unto anything

Unto the sun

I lick my lips

Search all cribs

Yet I must ask

 where have you gone?

Oh holy night, when will you come?



The eagle, the lion and the cross

Just take a toss

Where the sun has set, they shall go

Softly you whisper

For whisper you can

Still I hear nothing you can understand

For lies are not told in gardens of old

Honor does not fall

In your sacred hall

There is no way out

For the eagle or the cross


A bearded man sits upon his throne

“oh sing my crone, oh sing my crone”

Saying that he shall lead to the great unknown

Yet all voices are ashes

All ashes turn to ice

“Run, be gone! Where can I find the chosen one?”


The bearded man in the gutter

Sings his song to me

“All has been lost! That you shall see”

Shrugging I spit

As he hides his face

Longing for my sweet embrace


Oh, you land of milk and honey

Thine lonely nights meet their end

For these holy nights, the godsend, shall be with us once again

Oh, land of milk and honey

Children cry out for those golden days

So gay, so bright, so joyful

We all cry out for nothing

As we cry out for this holy night 

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