Det er rolig her
i mørket.
Biler kjøres, banneord ropes,
men alt jeg hører er regnet
som forsiktig hamrer på ruten.

Er det fredelig her
i mørket?
I varmen av et godt hjem,
men alt jeg føler er tomhet
og alt det som faller.

This room was the only place she felt safe. This small, insignificant room was her home. The walls were covered in her handwriting; poems, descriptions, dreams, and against them leaned paintings. Some were still wet. The easel stood in the centre of the room and on it sat a blank canvas. Tubes of paint were spread on the floor and on a bookshelf swamped by too many books. What was she to leave this room for?

Whenever she stepped outside, she drowned in the noise of cars, stress and people lost in empty conversations; their dreams narcissistic and their imaginations nonexistent. She bet they all had paintings of themselves hidden in the back of the closet where all their sins and worries and wrongs ate away at their faces. How did something as beautiful as the earth turn into something so ugly?

The sky was still black in the night. She knew there were stars up there somewhere, billions of them. She had read about galaxies and black holes and supernovas. The stars had always been a mystery to her and now they would not even wink at her to assure her they had not all disappeared. Perhaps they had. Maybe they had all died and now she could never solve their riddles.

She turned away from the sad window and squinted at the canvas in the centre of the room. She could see the colours floating across the white surface. In her mind she could feel an image taking shape and it would never make sense to anyone, sometimes not even her. The chains felt lighter as she rose and dragged her feet towards the easel. She picked up a brush and a tube of green on her way. She dipped the brush and gently stroked the blank canvas. The second the brush touched the white surface, she was not as weak anymore. Leaves were turning into trees and she could sense the fresh smell of a forest after rainfall as she painted. Her hand moved gracefully and for a while she stopped thinking. She picked up a tube of red and caressed the bottom of the green, but these strokes looked like flames and all of a sudden the silence wasn’t quite as peaceful anymore. She could feel the whole room burning and hear the crackling of burning paper. She could feel the heat spreading throughout her body all the way to her fragile mind. Suddenly she started slashing at the canvas. Red was violently splashed all over the canvas and all over the room. The burning picture was now bleeding. The poems on the walls were bleeding. Her eyes flooded and tears rushed down her cheeks as the entire room was bleeding. The knife was thrown on the floor. She let her body fall and it melted into the mess. She cried hysterically and screamed into nothing. No one could hear her.

She lay curled up on the floor, her face buried in her stained hands. The flames had faded away with her tears and her veins were not boiling anymore, but the room was still bleeding. She pulled herself to her feet and saw the window was still crying. So much sadness and loneliness and fear had never been gathered in one person’s mind. She was sure of that and sat down with her back against the wall again. At that moment her eyes met the canvas in the centre of the room. They were met by a new face; a content, peaceful face in the centre of the chaos she had created. She gazed at the sky once more and realized that the blackness was not black at all, but several different shades of blue melted into each other. That is when the stars appeared like drops of ink on a paper napkin and the silence turned peaceful.

I do not run because
I want to escape you
some things you hold, they frighten me.

You will always be mine;
my home, which holds my heart.
I might escape to the peace of mountains, sweet loneliness!

Always, my love, I will return
no matter where I run
For you are my city and dear city, I love you.

There is no greater sorrow
than that of a teenage girl;
her endless, sleepless night.

His touch, his kiss, her longing.
Her lonely heart, her broken tears.

There is no greater tragedy
than the day when lovers part.
Endless sleepless night.

Leave me with a kiss
I ask for nothing else
for I found solace there.

Lonely wanderer
that is who I am
though scarred and bruised and wounded
my love, you held my hand.

Thank you, love
for you hold me in your arms.
Though weighed down by my burdens
you hold me in your arms.

Lonely wanderer,
dreamer, ponderer
though lonely
- thank you, dear -
I am not alone here in your arms.

We were kids didn’t want to grow old.
We were kids it was spring in Oslo, spring in Oslo.

In our ears were Lennon and McCartney,
i had you and you had me.
The two of us, we didn’t need more
in the spring of 2004.

We were kids didn’t want to grow old.
We were kids and it was spring in Oslo, spring in Oslo.

There’s nothing wrong about me.
There’s nothing right.

How can you say nothing’s wrong with this picture?
I’ll do my best, trying hard not to trick her.
God only knows if it’s truth, if it’s fiction.
Losing touch with time, stuck beneath the sky tonight.

You’re not gonna find
any peace of mind
if you don’t start to repair
all the paper hearts
that I’ve torn apart.
It’s not suposed to be fair.

There’s nothing wrong about me.
There’s nothing right.

How can you say nothing’s wrong with this picture?
I’ll do my best, trying hard not to trick her.
God only knows if it’s truth, if it’s fiction.
Losing touch with time, stuck beneath the sky.

Have you ever seen a star die?
Has it ever crossed your mind?
I may be putting on a mask, love.
I may be trying to do without.

I’ve been drawing heart, tearing them apart.

How can you say nothing’s wrong with this picture?
I’ll do my best, trying hard not to trick her.
God only knows if it’s truth, if it’s fiction.
I’ve lost touch with time.
I have lost my mind.

Ten thousand dead
no longer breathing, living.
Ten thousand gone
no longer laughing, dreaming.

These numbers lack emotion
give me names, so I can feel.
Give eyes for tears to run from
and cheeks for their escape.

Give a face to these statistics
so I can weep, for ’tis a tragedy.

Had no idea where to go.
I lost myself in worlds that they could only dream of.
You made me feel like I could have a home here
Now no one knows me quite like you do.
No one knows me quite like you do,
no, no one knows me quite like you.

600 miles don’t stand a chance against what we’ve become.
This ain’t the end of us no this is the dawn.
Don’t worry about me leaving,
don’t worry about me leaving
I’ll be right here waiting when you come home
When you come home.

Had no idea how it felt
to know someone who’s just like me, just blond and not a mess.
There’s something about you that I don’t quite understand.
And now I cannot live without you.

Feels like I’ve known you my whole life.
We taught each other how to sing along when love strikes.
Lost track of time and now, a hundred cups of coffee later,
no one knows me quite like you do.
No one knows me quite like you do.
No, no one knows me quite like you.

600 miles don’t stand a chance against what we’ve become.
This ain’t the end of us, no this is the dawn.
Life’s too quiet when you are gone.
Don’t worry about me leaving,
don’t worry about me leaving.
I’ll be right here waiting when you come home.
When you come home.
So, when are you coming home?

Dear Sofie you know boys will let you down.
They’ll hurt you Sofie as you fall towards the ground.
Life is harsh, but darling these tears are happy
and the world is beautiful from where I’m standing.

And now your prince charming is waiting, is waiting.
And you keep your feet on the ground
and you head in the clouds.

Dear Sofie you’re so easy to adore.
Spread your wings and take off through that open door.
Life is waiting for you, no more hesitating.
You are headed for a happy ending.

And now your prince charming is waiting, is waiting.
And you keep your feet on the ground
and you head in the clouds.