When i'm sitting at home, listening along to the voices talking on, I don't feel that I belong.
Don't get me wrong, my roommate next dorm, he's talking like crazy on his phone.
But I feel i need to be somewhrre else, a place of joy and disgrace, a place for the disgruntled and loss of face.
I want to indulge in the urge, stop resisting the surge and not look back the place from which I emerged.
A civilized house, trying to surpass the wild crowds, dismembering the flows of passage and shows and onlooking crows.
But whenever i feel the need, the lust for speed, the urge for weed or the greed to lead, I remember the right place to be, is the one where you can do good, and deeds.
Hypocritical for the most, dangerous at worst and a nuisance at best, is how I am seen by the rest.
Neither rhymes not sense can change the world we face, an indifferent host, who usually beholds and destroys.
Der Mond ist scharlachrot.
Er rockt sich durch die dunklen Wolken.
Er strahlt wie eine schöne Frau.
Sein Lächeln liegt noch auf dem Morgentau.
Die Sonne küsst ihn zart.
Der Smooth Jazz breitet sich aus
Schwingt sich den Wänden empor
Tanzt an der Decke leichtfüssig
Lacht übers ganze Gesicht
Und meint in unterkühltem Ton
Auch Wolken haben eine [ ... ]