eng.

sing for me, pretty bird
a song of happy birthday
a song of victory
a moonlight serenade
a sad, sad ballad
a sweet lullaby
sing your heart out like never before
for the end is constantly hanging over our heads
like a ripe fruit ready to be picked
as it has hung there for all eternity
sing for me, songbird
tweet some nice things
soft spoken sentences
for i am just a poor boy
blessed with poverty in money
and blessed with poverty in love
and poverty in spirit
meek as a lamb
sing, for i have mainly good intentions,
a cage cozy as an asylum
with padded walls
designed just for you



- - -



as the poet said
the sky was weeping
so was the ground
and the sleepwalkers passing by
the mail-man tearing the envelopes
and the endless roads of nowhere
the lamp posts and the stray dog
feasting with the trashes
all had tears in their eyes

then came the officer
gathered them all together to weep
and they wept and they wept
until they all forgot
why they were weeping
in the first place
but they kept on weeping
until it became absurd
and they all started laughing
then the kind doctor
ordered them a bountiful medication
and they all lived their lives
happily ever after



- - -



helter skelter

let's swing for a moment
under the sun's burning heat
o icarus, young narcissus
the summer is sly, asking for nothing
but snatching your hidden valuables
while you're sleeping
o possessor
the sun plots of carrots,
and the sun plots of sticks
and some magician's tricks
of pulling rabbits out of hats
so let's swing for a moment
it's the summer of love
and there's murder to come



- - -



heart-attack

it should be forbidden
in the geneva conventions
even hitler forbade his troops
using oxytocin
they shoot you with rainbows
and stab you with a flower
feint you with their senile smiles
and the innocence of a cow
the only defence they leave you with
is preemptive attack
or flight

never surrender
but always preserve the honor
and dignity
of a rock

...fucking hippies



- - -



listen to the trees talking
they don't care about your troubles
they know nothing of them
all they care about is photosynthesis
all day, every day
and the carbon-monoxide

see how they drop their withered leaves
to be stomped on
and the dark bird gnawing the rotten apple

boohoo, it's only autumn,
not the end of the world
you just wish



- - -



dear nervous breakdown
you're such a precious
opportunity to touch
the convincing intensity
and immediacy of
the present moment

sharp and fresh
as a breeze of cold wind
cruel as the human heart
and kind as a guillotine



- - -



on top of a hill at nighttime
one can see
the forest, the mountains and the dark river flowing
the moon is casting a cool light
and the vast sky speaks of immensity
though nothing dramatic

the water makes a water-sound
the wind makes a wind-sound
and the earth makes an earth-sound
even though it's silent

the insects carry on their march forever
the fishes hide under the reflective surface
and the king is already fast asleep
then suddenly: a shooting star



- - -



birds on the branches inquire keenly
as the wind horse gallops to the middle road
bringing strange news from afar

clouds wear transparent for the moment
sun and moon can both be seen in the sky
in an ancient opposition of love and war

the messanger is laughing without a mouth
quietly quenching the thirst in every corner of the world
disappearing to the mouths of the hungry



- - -



in the round of coming and going
the anxieties are countless
one is constantly exhausted
by running in circles
searching for remedy
here and there

in the resting place
of those gone by
is an oasis devoid of tomorrow
streaming waters to dissolution
sparkling and generous
like spring



- - -



a flower picked withers fast
by the noon the birds already disappear to the sky
a butterfly leaves an empty cocoon
and wind sweeps the dust

many words disturb the air
carving mirages from the things that matter
the kindness of the ground goes unnoticed
letting all beings to be



- - -



the passion fruit has a sweet and intoxicating taste
the sky-balm gives moment's relief by numbing an itching wound
the mocking bird sings a melody of beauty
the tretcherous bar maid pours still one more on the house

a fool is easily tricked
he sits under a tree waiting for a long time
expecting someone to arrive



- - -



there's no refuge for the ones who got scattered in the wind
nothing but the price of punishment for gamblers
who betted on red and put all their money in
there's something violent lurking in the labyrinth
the hammer makes a tender beef by pounding the heart's meat

three little mouses went sailing and got lost in the sea
the ship turned to be rotten, full of stowaways
a bottle of rum and a dead man's chest
got sunk in the deep and there they now rest



- - -



morning, no hurry
i can smell the coffee, see the sun
from the window i can hear them
wrecking a building apart
it takes suprisingly long for them
to wreck down a building that small
it takes forever
this is the seventh day, i think
it's like they're enjoying themselves
torturing the twisted constructs
torturing the neighbourhood
it must be done early in the morning
when innocent people are still asleep
and in a most voulnerable state
it's then when it's best to strike
with their symphony of violence
i kind of enjoy it myself
sipping my coffee
with the morning gospel of destruction
bit like john the baptist preparing the road
for something huge to come
next i'm sure they start pounding
the base poles to the ground
but i'm sure it will make no sound
there's no resistance in the ground at all



- - -



you ask for a solution
and you receive a problem
you ask for an advice
and you receive a question
you ask for a treat
and you get the trick
you're buying warmth
and heaven freezes thick
you ask for a teaspoon
and you receive a truckload

stop asking, you idiot



- - -



said goodbye to every flower by the road,
to the cradle that once soothed,
and all the love the world once offered and i denied,
the moments that slipped by unnoticed, like thieves
and the sweet opiate dream of the nightingale
always rushing heavenwards

life has its own rule
of draining us
and we,
we are but a shriek of panic and ecstacy
a long goodbye that the arrow bids
as it shoots through the bird

said farewell to the drifting clouds and distant stars
stripped naked to the bones and scars
set my ragged bones to a pile, again, facing east
said goodbye and heard no more answer