My enemy
Sometimes I’m sick of
Sages, priests and poets who are born
To praise the beauty of the flowers
Without thorns.
Sometimes I’m sick of
Vassals who speak only to complain,
When they love nothing more than their own
Iron chain.
Sometimes I shut down
Songs which make me feel misunderstood,
Because the singers only like me
When I’m good.
It became clear why
My religion often asked of me
To look around and maybe love
My enemy.