There is a tiger inside of me, furiously raging
and he's always waiting
and I'm always waiting
I hate him and he hates me, he wants to kill me,
but I hope we'll reconcile
as time goes by.
His teeth on my heart, his nails on my mind
and for my own good
I'm fighting for him
everything good in the world he makes me hate,
because for him, I have to sing my deepest sorrow.
He makes me cross mountains, valleys, and gorges,
in order to embrace
in a wild dance with him,
and when during the cold nights, he remembers his cages,
he hands me his sheepskin
to clothe my self with.
Sometimes we put drunkenly,
almost lovingly,
ourselves to sleep
and this silence seems like the calm before the storm,
like the final time
that he will attack.