69 Dead Birds for Utøya

Sometimes i pose a question to myself, again and again, but I can’t find an answer.
You may say I got no sense of humour, but the smile has been wiped off my face.
There's no kindness in these eyes anymore, no ablazing vital spark,
and once again I feel so fucking lonely, although I am never alone.

Sometimes I feel like I got stones in my stomach, so heavy to haul.
All we try to amend should be an appeasement, but falls on deaf ears!
There’s no turning back, cause we were born at this ridiculous place,
and since we don’t break the circle we’ll be in need of body bags

Is all this happening for a reason or just by mischance?
Is it true, that we are nothing but handprints on a misty pane?
How can we fall asleep while the world is still burning?
How shall I sleep, when I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders?
How shall I sleep?
How shall I sleep?

Everytime you think the most stupefying incident in this world already happened,
there comes one more.
Shouldn‘t this be proof enough for our ingrained failing, prove enough that we should know, this all boils down to nothing?

It's still the same war, in this day and age, we just call it a different name…