Intro

I was too wild. My heart was not at peace, and my mind was on a never-ending rollercoaster. I was hurt and broken. And a broken soul on the motorbike—you can only imagine it was not less than a suicide attempt. The higher the speed on the speedometer, the calmer my mind used to get. I wanted to be as fierce as the wind. Even though I wanted to leave everything behind, I could not lose the spirit to seek and accept reality. And that is what makes the lost soul return to its nest, finally.

There's an old house, with broken windows and torn out paints,

It stinks, but it has not lost its spirit yet.

And I just love how them furnitures' has grown mushrooms in their woods,

Like it has finally regained its soul.

It has its own little backyard with an old crappy chair,

All tired and weary, it cannot stand one more day in despair.

I write most of my poetry sitting in that chair,

And I have been through my ups and down,

Always holding my beer,

Looking at the settling sun and thinking about love, life, and all

A desperate, devastated, depressed soul but still holding his balls.