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Don't be sad and come, come to look out |
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of the windows in a wasted morning, |
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this lost and menacing sky is yours, |
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it's just my gift, my gift for you. |
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Only my hate still remains, |
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only closed eyes and hazy shouting |
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which are dying out so lazily while |
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everything shatters my idiot plans. |
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Let's go for a walk to foggy streets, |
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foggy like the dreams we dreamt about and |
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keep on staying alive in the frozen dreams |
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which somebody sings the praises of. |
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Here is just the hand of your cruel friend, |
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in a silence "vie" with no return, |
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then you push me back, back to the tiredness |
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where I come from... alone? |
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Maybe time ago I did give up, |
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losing something I was fond of, |
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but there is no trick, no lack of awareness, |
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if I look back. |
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Some hours again, in the loss's sun, |
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and also your eyes will get a flower, |
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born among the new fear of the crowd, |
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born while waiting crimes to come. |
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I have open eyes and I still breathe |
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and I breathe pure wrath in the cut air, |
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and believe me scorn is not enough |
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for this heaven. |
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And I breathe the streets of loneliness |
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even though they told I was dead |
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and I can't forget the boundless winter |
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and what it whispers. |
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Only for your eyes I might cry, |
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but I cannot look, cannot look t you. |
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I have joy and death within myself. |
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I have joy and death. |
