Old man of the mountains

I remember paradise,
The place that I was,
High as a kite and stuffed as an owl,
Full of real dreams.

He who gave me this grace,
Snatched my peace,
And down I fell,
Raw and torn.

No more nothings,
Living seemed dreadful,
The poison of life was stolen from me,
And death seemed really inviting.

The old man said,
Kill him who steals what was yours,
If you die when you do,
That is better.