You hurt me with your careless insults.
They cut through me like a knife.
Like nails they were driven into my heart and soul.
So I went to live in the woods
to make it easier for me to forget
the hurt, and all the things you said.

You’ve done me wrong
by killing someone I loved.
I play the records you’ve engraved into my mind
over and over again every day.
So I went to live in a country
far away from danger, from harm,
from you and people like you.

I want to cut tighs
with you who criticise me so often
on every single thing I say or do.
I swear, if you could read my mind,
you’d probably criticise or have a problem
with my every thought, my every intention.
Therefore I live my life
aside from yours, away from you …

Feelings, oh feelings!
Who can escape your presence?
Who can pretend as if you never have to be dealt with?

Who can be so foolish to think
that one can go on the run
without carrying you in the heart
until one dares to search
for the place where you were conceived?



You said there are no conditions to your love for me,
and that, if I want to talk, I should feel free,
yet, whenever I tell you what’s on my heart,
an argument or a fight you’d start.

You said I must discuss my problems first with you,
and you always yelled at me if I failed to,
always criticising and attacking me before
sweeping in front of your own door!

Gradually, I’ve hidden myself from you more and more,
and now, when you knock on my heart’s door,
I talk to you through a window or a keyhole
to keep you from pronouncing your biased judgments over my life and soul …