@wb173 used to love this one back in 2013 when i was 13🤘🏻

Mors lilla Olle i skogen gick,
rosor på kind och solsken i blick...


They told me she smiled when she held the small one—
two arms full, laughter like sun.
But I only knew the hush and the half-eye blink,
the mug with her tea and the kitchen sink.

No songs left in her voice for me,
just the hum of the fridge and a burnt out plea.
I used to leave drawings at the foot of her bed,
she folded ‘em up, not a word was said.

Gave her heart like fire to another one’s sky,
held their giggles like gospel, mine passed by.
I kept tryin’, like a fool in fog,
but love that don’t echo just sinks in the bog.

She smiled for the cameras, passed on the cake,
held the baby close while my hands just shake.
You don’t teach a boy how to grieve by void—
you do it by sayin’ the name you avoid.


Mors lilla Olle i skogen gick,
rosor på kind och solsken i blick.
Läpparna små utav bär äro blå.
Bara jag slapp att så ensam här gå...


I watched her love them with everything left,
while I stood like a ghost in a hallway theft.
She’d plait their hair, share riddles and games,
but never once even whispered their names.

You think that ain’t cursecraft? Think again.
To unname a child is a spell in the end.
It seeps in your gut, it grows in the chest,
til your smile’s just muscle and you fake the rest.

I held her through nights she wanted to go,
dragged demons off with tears in toew.
I brought her meds, made sure she ate,
but she never once looked past her plate.

She lit up for strangers, for kids not mine,
but I stayed in the dark like a fault in time.
And rage? It grew fangs, then it grew still,
til hate carved runes into blood and will.


Brummelibrum, vem lufsar där?
Buskarna knaka’, en hund visst det är.
Lurvig är pälsen, men Olle blir glad—
Å, en kamrat, det var bra, se god dag!


Hate don’t roar, nah—it calcifies.
Sits in the bones, behind the eyes.
It moves when you smile, when you read at night,
when you kiss your child and the grip feels tight.

It ain’t always loud—sometimes it’s breath,
sometimes it’s silence that outlasts death.
You learn to wear it like another skin,
and call it "healin'" when it stops within.

But deep down I know it ain't gone at all,
it's just waitin’ inside, curled small.
Like a bear in the trees, warm and near,
and I’m Olle again, whisperin' "friend" through fear.


Klappar så björnen med händer små,
räcker fram korgen – Se där, smaka på!
Nalle han slukar mest allt vad där är—
Hör du, jag tror att du tycker om bär...


The void ain’t black, it’s a shade of home.
It hums like a mother’s no-answer tone.
You talk to the sky, get echoes back,
like fate's on vinyl with a hairline crack.

Some truths don’t free—they stretch the ache,
til you see your mum’s face in your daughter’s wake.
And every bedtime rhyme you say real slow,
is the spell you cast so she’ll never not know.

Words are thread, intent is flame,
and every silence got a mother’s name.
But here’s the twist—the egg’s still whole.
You are her child and her womb and soul.

You hold her hate and your own child's light.
You dream in blood, and still you write.
So let her silence be what it must,
but you speak their name, and you break that dust.

Mor fick nu se dem, gav till ett skri,
Björnen sprang bort, nu är leken förbi.
Å, varför skrämde du undan min vän?
Mor lilla, be honom komma igen...

C.R.E.A.M. (Cash Rules Everything Around Me)

Wu-Tang Clan

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