Parallel Worlds
He said he hates. Airports and aeroplanes. Since that flight. Back home from Washington. When his wife threw up blood. Next to the baggage carousel. When her favourite white sweater. Got drenched in red.
Who would have thought. Their holiday would end this way. In a neat airport in Switzerland. When she fainted and collapsed. And to start resuscitation. Her favourite white sweater. Was cut in two.
And somewhere. In the arrival hall. Behind the last customs control. Someone buys flowers and writes a note. For his loved one soon coming home. Isn’t that strange, isn’t that strange. I think to myself.
He said he hates. Salt water and the smell of the sea. Since that trip. From Libya to Italy. When his overloaded boat. Got into rough weather conditions. And out of 52 people. Only 10 survived.
A coast guard vessel. was luckily close enough. To pick up the living. And the dead bodies swimming. And while he was handed fresh water. And a golden thermal blanket. A Newscast TV team. Was filming the scene.
And somewhere in a suburban street. Behind a large television screen. I watch the news indifferently. Wait for my loved ones soon coming home.
Isn’t that strange isn’t that strange. The way we’re living in parallel worlds. So distant like heaven and hell.
It may seem like a science-fiction story. Or the remains of some ancient divine law. We are living our lives disconnected. Isolated, protected, behind walls. The walls are made of apathy or concrete. Made of ignorance, barbed wire and of greed.
Isn’t that strange isn’t that strange.
I think to myself.
Be My Judge
You will never put me down no more. I won’t let you break my back. You will never put me down no more.
Be my judge, be my hangman, be the rope. Just judge me for what I do, not for who I am.
You may say I’m just a boring type. You may say I’m just a cheat. You may say I’m just my father’s child.
Put the rope around my neck. Pull it tight before I spit in your face.
Be my judge, be my hangman, be the rope. Just judge me for what I do, not for who I am
Yes it feels like I cannot stop the plot. Only the last judgment will reveal the truth.
Point your gun right at my heart. Put the rope around my neck. Pull it tight before I spit in your face.
Be my judge, be my hangman, be the rope. Just judge me for what I do, not for who I am.
The One
I am sitting here. In a crowded bar. I have you near. But you seem so far.
Far away from me. Empty bottles in-between. You could have been the one. But our plans have come undone.
You said to me. That I would never learn. To live my life. If I didn’t dare.
To disappoint and love. To open up my heart. You could have been the one. To teach me right from wrong.
Mhh won’t you hold my hand. I need your love, to find my way. Mhh won’t you hold my hand. I need your love, to find my way.
I see a light. When you call me babe. I see a light. When you hold me tight. I see a light. In the tunnel of my life.
I’ll throw away my fears. ‘Cause I know. I finally have to learn. To disapoint and love.
To open up my heart. Appreciate and to hate. Let loose and to take. You could have been the one. To teach me right from wrong. You could have been the one. You could have been the one. You could have been the one.
But our plans have come undone
Boomerang
I heard it on the news today. I read in the papers. They are sending ships to fight the enemy again.
A foolish game for recognition. Played countless times before. Eight pawns and two runners sacrificed for the king.
I’m not suprised how the world is shaped today. ‘Cause I came to realise, it has always been like this.
You showed me an old picture. Of your mother and your sister. They are throwing smiles towards you. And you are smiling back.
You lost them way too early. You were only seventeen. They lost their lives at a concert. In a suicide attack.
I’m not suprised how the world is shaped today. ‘Cause I came to realise, it has always been like this.
We will never learn. Hatred is a boomerang. Our history is a poem. Written by us, line by line. No line will be repeated. But they will come in rhymes. I’m not suprised how the world is shaped today. ‘Cause I came to realise, it has always been this way.
It has alway been this way.
A Land To Call Their Own
I woke up one morning. Feeling the night deep in my bones. Shivering and mumbling my dreams into the cold. I was lost in the prairie. Starved and thirsty from the heat. A hallucinating cowboy. Calling for rescue and relief.
Mhhh I am longing for a land to call my own. It seems like I haven’t found what I’ve been looking for.
In my dreams I have travelled with. A thousand versions of myself. Dressed in all kinds of colours. For me they all quite looked the same. Some they came from old countries. Searching for freedom and for Zion. Some came looking for good fortune. Others were slaughtered and enslaved.
Mhhh I am longing for a land to call my own. It seems like I haven’t found what I’ve been looking for. Looking for, looking for.
From the shores of the beachThrough deserts, hills and creeks. They’re residing in white houses. Or they’re dying in the streets. They are praised for their fathers. Or beaten up for just the same. They are hailed and admired. Shot for the colour of their skin.
Mhhh they‘re longing for a land to call their own. It seems like they will never find what they are looking for.
Love In The Time Of
You’re lying on our bed, half-naked. Telling me stories of your past. You’re playing with your hairlike you always do. Making me want you even more.
Sunlight is shimmering through the curtains. We have nothing to do, just staying inside. Self-Isolation is not the worst thing. When I’m with you, when I’m with you.
You are laying your last card on the table. While an official statement is broadcast on TV. They just prolongd the state of emergency. Seems like all the aces were in our hands.
Pour me another glass oft hat white wine. We have nothing to do, just staying in. Self-Isolation is not the worst thing. When I’m with you, when I’m with you.
I don’t need no entertainment. I don’t need no pointless appointments. I don’t need noone to sell me expensive clothing. Oh no.
Pour me another glass oft hat white wine. We have nothing to do, just staying in. Self-Isolation is not the worst thing. When I’m with you, when I’m with you.
Self-Criticism
I took my date for a walk along the river. It was warm outside and she was hot. It was the fifth time we met and every time I paid the tab. So I thought it was time to take one more step. I said darling: “I don’t live too far away, why don’t you come. Won’t you coming home with me?”
But what she said to me made my heart stand still. She turned her head and said cold and clear. You Son of a bitch won’t seduce me just by buying me drinks.
I took a piece of paper and I wrote a short letter. To my best friend, living far away. I wrote mate: “How’s your wife, how’s your daughter. Have you bought that house around the corner? As for me I am fine, I haven’t got much news still unlucky with the girls and unsure what to do in life. Why don’t you pay me a visit, I could really need your advice.”
Ten days later. I got his reply. What I had to read almost made me cry. He wrote „I lost my job and my wife just died. Now do you really want to ask me for advice?“
I typed a ten digit number into my phone. I knew it by heart `cause I was calling home. I said mama: “Won’t you help me? I’m in despair and I don’t know what to do. Everything I touch, I break it into two. Why can’t you give me some of your magic medicine.”
She said: “Son last time I gave you my pills, you laughed at me and didn’t take me for real. Sorry my son but I won’t help you anymore.”
So I’m sitting here all alone. Watching television all night long. And I’m wondering what went wrong. Is it me, is it them. Is it just the way I am?
Self-criticism is a dangerous thing too little makes you lonely. And too much makes you insane. So the only thing that could help me. To save my self-esteem. Is to write this little song, to sing this little song and to finally fall asleep.
Sonntagvormittag
Es regnet draussen und ich lieg im Bett. Ein dumpfes Klopfen hat mich geweckt. Nicht der Hammer im Kopf. Aber wohl das Paar von nebenan. Ich schau auf mein Handy und schalt das Radio an. Das Politikgespräch hat grad begonnen. Die Bahn wird teurer und die AFD gibt’s leider immer noch. Nicht’s hält die Tristesse. Sie steigt zimmerhoch. Ich zieh die Decke übern Kopf. Wär ich gestern doch lieber. In der Bar liegen gebliebn
S’ist nur ein weiterer nasser Sonntagvormittag. Meine Nachbarn haben Sex und ich schreib Songs. Und denk dabei an dich.
Irgendwann schaff ich’s dann aus dem Bett und in die Küche. Mach Kaffee und setz mich hin. Auf den Stuhl auf dem ich immer sitz. Wo du immer sitzt. Der Stuhl, der bleibt leer. Als ich merk’, dass meine Pflanzen ihre Köpfe hängen lassen. Hört das Klopfen plötzlich auf. Wird auch Zeit denk ich mir. Nimm meine Kaffeetasse. Und geh raus auf den Balkon. Die zwei von nebenan schnappen auch mal frische Luft. Beide zünden sich eine an. Sie grüss’n freundlich. Und ziehn genüsslich. An der Kippe danach.
S’ist nur ein weiterer nasser Sonntagvormittag. Meine Nachbarn haben Sex und ich schreib Songs. Und denk dabei an dich.
Wenn jeder Flecken nackte Haut. Mir das Blut im Becken staut. Ja dann weiss ich, dass du fehlst. Ja dann weiss ich, dass du fehlst. Wenn mich die ZDF Heute show. Mich nicht mehr zum Lachen bringt. Ja dann weiss ich, dass du fehlst. Ja dann weiss ich, dass du fehlst. Wenn der Kaffee nicht mehr schmeckt. An einem Sonntagvormittag. Ja dann weiss ich, dass du fehlst.
Ja dann weiss ich. Weiss ich, dass du fehlst