Song Of Watering

The sweat burns still on the forehead and the last word resounds still
by the night. By dreams waked up, from the sleep of forgetting
cleverly, on that morning of the realization, and vomited at the
reality, the sense exists of dreams, which left this world already for
a long time, as silver strips on the horizon. And only we know the
way, but it is too far.
The souls are for a long time erfroren in the cold weather and
Trostlosigkeit of this world. Steel chain of the reality, the colors
no more than only front, worn out and grey. A dungeon from concrete,
which devours all feelings and which hearts with fear laehmt. But who
takes up the wrong, also the love lets be into heart, fulfills it with
lives, fulfills it with sense and exposes cold weather as fear.
A blade of grass in the storm of the life, so fragile and hurtable.
But still defiance I the wind I still live, imprisoned in the
intoxication of the feelings. In the infinite beauty of the human
spirit the sense is nevertheless so far, searched too much found too
much, but the hands remain empty. Where the reality lives nevertheless
only by the necessity.
What is worth a world, in which a song does not agitate to tears, in
which a poem does not cry makes? Seen to too much with only one view,
too much one thought, with only one thought. And no sound one heals
more our wounds, only the darkness of the night is able it to hide...
And your love for me.