it's five days before christmas,
given a map of unknown world, the atlas.
each day i should receive a present,
on the 24th of december, the world should end.
i opened the first window,
suddenly my body ached of sorrow.
following the lines described,
the tight walls were once wide.
every person i met gave me empathy,
how funny they're unhappy but wealthy.
alone, curled up like an embryo,
each one a deadly scenario.
the next one showed me doubt
in it myself i searched and found.
the mirror was my worst enemy,
my face loved the smile of agony.
there was nobody i could see
without the inner voice to hear.
everyone offered me only rope,
at which i gladly stopped.
the following day i lost my senses,
limited by me and all my fences.
there was no one to turn to,
unfortunately, i didn't really wanted to.
i gave up on the things i loved,
opening something inside, a pandora box.
i was drowning with doubt and sorrow
that depression and anxiety borrow.
the fourth day stuck in ruins
but showed me what love is.
i met all those women
and i foolishly believed it was an omen.
one killed me with her looks,
one killed me with her muse,
one killed me with her behaviour,
one killed me by being my saviour.
the final day was the end,
this day the world comes to an end.
my christmas present was wrapped in a box,
that's what i've always wished for, a pandora box.
