Woe of a Writer

There’s madness in my head and heart,
These characters shouting to be heard,
I do what they say,
And write their tales,
But another ten thousand spring up in their place.  

It’s hard to concentrate on the now,
When your soul is somewhere far away,
In a land far better than this,
Where everything is black and white,
So clear cut,
And evil doesn’t hide itself behind a smile.

from the world of Balladblood