brogren

we don't have any secrets left
but it's so dammed cowardly to leave
Bohemians, poets are pigs
and "On The Road" is the most silly shit I ever read
because heros and heroines stay
with their backs to the wall
only skin against sharp edges
and they claw and clout and bite
for dear life for their lifes or someone else's
they don't get any reward
but (neither) claim anything
they just put things together and keep their traps shut

Darling what we want most of all
is something that never can be our's
November is a wall of wet concrete
a ridiculous dream of escape is born
to crash and then die
but heros and heroines stay
they spit hard against the vind
and warm up our hands
so that we won't loose the grip
of the love we deserve
They dare to belief and to hope
that someone above is watching us
someone that rather wants to forgive than to condemn us
for something we didn't know we did