English – Page 40 – Scriptorium '77

And now for something completely the same

while I’m still wondering
what life is all about
there lies no single doubt
in the fact

We’re travelling this space for a while. All is dust and we mostly consist of water. We’re still playing with fire while hardly breathing.

Poetry writes itself
Yeah
Especially
When you are trapped in a train

tell me again
there is a paradise
up there

i travel the stars
without my scapegoat face
beyond ongoing wars
i’ll find my place

there is a storm before the spectacle temporarily darkens the day
if you watch closely you can see the shadows moving far away

I don’t know; what happened?
Nothing.
So, why did you ask?
Do you like that?

there is this bitter sweet lemon-aid
clouds run dry creating the fate
for humans who always hate
on something good

this is my skin
I don’t want to have pictures on my body
I want to become a piece of art
being a walking painting

Hey, it’s me
Your worst enemy
I’m right behind you
Are you coming through