What kind of day has it been

There has never been a year, when I felt so scared:

So anxious and vulnerable and so unprepared

For those days to come, and the days that have passed.

What’s left of the courage we all got at last?

A whole year of terror, a whole year of death.

The spirits are broken. We’re holding our breath.

At first it was Bowie then Wilder and Prince

Too many dear icons has left us all since.

Yet at the horizon a war still goes on

Their families are fleeing, but we go along.

Instead we spread hatred and fear, all the same

And try to find someone: A scapegoat to blame.

Could twenty sixteen, at last, please just end?

For there’s no more vigour nor power to spend.