This streets covered in graffiti, piss, broken bottles
and echos from the bars in Görlitzer that closed for some hour ago.
There voices brutal and merciless, yet comforting from this distance
as I'm sitting in the window of the apartment that was in a similar condition.
The Devil called for my imagination, and god stood silently nodding hes head,
i felt peace with myself for the first time in many years.
Liberated though chaos, i was floating in a black ocean without a sight of land,
where all my memories have drowned and my seance was sanding in line.
Baptized again, a new start still, my past still boiled in my blood as if
the curse of god prevent me to evolve.

So i keep on searching for an answer in echos of the allays,
the mysterious noise that almost can manage grow up, to become a word.
The most beautiful poetry, but it was poetry written in blood. Blood that boiled.
So i kept on writing for a hope that my words would blossom with a new voice,
the voice of the unheard scream, from the unvisited land.

And as I'm sitting here in the window while the cigarette smoke escapes out on the streets,
my bottle is almost empty and my eyes is heavy
i see that its only in the bottom of the well there is life, for on the surface im an alien.
I cant relate to life unless it breeds the same
air as death. so i think just keep writing myself into existence.