Graveyard Of My Past This is the graveyard of my past. Here lie the dreams that I have lost. Dreams I had when I was young, all dead, all gone. Endless walks through labyrinths, a corridor that never ends. So many ways without an aim, and destinations, but no way. Where are the dreams that I had? Where are they now, where are they now? Where is the pain in my heart? Where is it now, where is it now? Where are the words I wanted to say? Out of my head now, out of my head. Where are the poems I wanted to write? Empty pages, empty pages. Where are the mountains I wanted to climb? They’re too high, much too high now. Where are the oceans I wanted to dive? They’re too deep, much too deep now. Where are the castles I wanted to build? Ruins on sand, ruins on sand. Where is the smile on my lips? Died down, died down. Where are the tears in my eyes? Dried out, dried out. Look at these hands, they’re old and weary now, weary now, weary now, weary now. Where is the world I wanted to change? It’s turning round and round and round. Where is the iron will I thought I had? Where is it now, where is it now? Only the strong will survives, only the strong will survives, only the strong will survives, only the strong will survives! On the graveyard of my past a little flower grows at last. Coming up between two stones, that can’t keep it from growing.

Out Of Area Out of area Saving war industry Curbs on refugees They forget their own past Westbound countries hand in hand, conservative governments Safety boarders, soldier’s friend, waste society Gameboys, marshmallows, child education by t.v. shows Thousand programmes all we know, sad reality Children custody Only friends on t.v. Brainless idiocy Got No more fantasy Westbound countries hand in hand, conservative governments Safety boarders, soldier’s friend, waste society Gameboys, marshmallows, child education by t.v. shows Thousand programmes all we know, sad reality Out of area

Grows An Oak Grows an oak between two lakes, darkly shadowed sky and glen. If I speak not falsely from her flowers this does come. Fields of green have turned to brown. Summer’s gone, the winds have grown colder. Long time passed since I’ve been here before, but I feel like not grown older. Small blue house stands by the lake, door is red and always open. Roof as brown as the autumn fields. She’s not there but soon will come again. Little footpath leads me up the hill, and I sit there, flowers in hand. And I am waiting here for warmer days, waiting here for her to come. Well, I dreamed a thousand dreams full of fear and happiness. Well, I dreamed the strangest dreams, but there was one I won’t forget. As I woke up in the early morning, well, I found myself still in the middle of my dream. Grows an oak between two lakes, darkly shadowed sky and glen. If I speak not falsely she has never gone.

The Viewer Sitting lazy on my sofa late at night. Receiving signals from another satellite. Getting intoxicated with the t.v. screen, pumping up my mind with idiocy. The announcer wears a friendly face, keeps on smiling every day. The late night thriller fills the screen. I’m spellbound watching every scene. Close up as a man blows his brain, the slow motion shows it once again. Anyway I have to laugh, cause I can’t get enough. Entertainment violence, educator t.v. screen, microchips as feed for empty brains. Entertainment sex and crime, mental leak in consequence of love out of the socket. What nonsense! The black matrix woman turns me on, makes me feel so manly strong. Lipstick and naked skin as night dress increase a greedy man’s thoughtlessness. Getting wide opened starring eyes by watching sex crimes live. Entertainment violence, educator t.v. screen, microchips as feed for dead brains. Entertainment sex and crime, mental leak in consequence of love out of the socket. What nonsense! Programme’s over, I’ve seen enough. Now I know how to unfold my love. Switch off that goggle box going out. My jam packed head is screaming loud. I walk the dark streets as a past time, looking forward to committing my crime.

One Nicht In Kabalanga Some twenty hours long we drove the road of thousand holes. It shook our minds and bones. At the borderline we had to find a place to stay the night, starry night. Empty roads and closed hotels, village with no soul. There was no place to go. Somewhere on the grass we lay down looking far into the stars, countless stars. Before our eyes the milky way was gleaming bright, a shooting star was passing by. In the northern sky, beyond the borderline, peculiar lights in shimmery white. Silent flashes in the air, our hearts were running fast. We fell asleep at last. But in my dreams I saw a thousand faces black as pitch. They encircled me. And I was afraid.

Blossom In The Storm Paper rags were swirling ‚cross the street. The cold late August rain did wet my feet. Neon light came through the humid grey on that misty day. Seeking shelter in a dead end street cafe, watching rain drops at the window pane. I didn’t notice her standing in the door, never seen her before. She sat to me and told me of her life, but I couldn’t hear her voice, I couldn’t hear her voice, I only saw her face. I’ve never heard that language before sounding wonderful bizarre, she was so bizarre like a blossom in the storm. I woke up with a sunbeam in my eye. She had gone, and so the August rain. I never ever knew from where she came, never saw her again, never blossomed again.

Time Creeps Tell me the truth, the more you win the more you lose. I tell you nothing, that might be more than everything, everything, every-nothing. It makes me sad going three steps forward, two steps back. We‘re looking for progress, getting more by doing less, doing less, commentless. Time creeps away, all night, all day. Time creeps away, all night, all day. It‘s all a game we have to play, well it‘s a shame. We‘re on the run, we can‘t believe what we have done, what we‘ve done, done wrong. Time creeps away, all night, all day. Time creeps away, all night, all day. Now it‘s too late. We‘ve build the way right into hell‘s gate. Game is over, all points lost and gone nowhere, gone nowhere, nowhere.

Burned Torn is your way, smashed are your limbs, boiled away is your blood, shattered your dreams. The blazing fire drowned out your cry, in your dispare you didn`t find the way out there. Burned is your life, scorched is your soul. Your smile sunk into the flames of your own. And you sunk into a deep deep sleep, too deep sleep, no sunlight will wake you up tomorrow. And no rain will wet your hair, and no snow will freeze your tears. Dark is your day, cold is your night. Searching in my past for your sight. A black spot on the roadside reminds my thoughts of long gone days, long gone years, too long gone years. But your memory still remains, anchored deep in my veins. Where are you now, where have you gone? Are you out there somewhere, where have you gone? I’ve lost your eye contact, but I know you’re here. There’s no more communication, but your voice is clear. I know I can hear you whispering in the wind. Are you sometimes listening to the songs I sing?

Flowers On The Moon The moon was shining brightly on the darkest day. A million fallen stars were swimming across the sea. Day was night and night was day, and the day was young. I was hardly trying to catch the sunlight, and you were picking flowers on the moon. Soon was now, and now was soon, and soon was gone. We were dancing on the volcano over ardent flows. And then the burning rock lay dormant under ambers. The heat was cold, the cold was still, and still is cold. I was hardly trying to catch the sunlight, and you were picking flowers on the moon.

Masquerade Saturday evening, eight p.m., it’s time. They get dressed up to the nines, convinced that they will catch all eyes. A strong smell of expensive perfume stealing after them, while sitting down in their proud cars, obligatory cigarette in hand. By turning on the radio they’re getting in the mood, putting on contented faces, rolling roaring down the road. They all come to the show, to be there is a must. No one can’t be missing, and all guests need to stay to the last. The masquerade is starting up again, like a hundred times before, it’ll always be the same. Everybody tries to play the role the best they can, although it’s known that no one will applaude in the end. Cold meat is served. Please help yourself! They all jump at the meal like parasites to drink and eat their fill. The mood is good, the wine is fine. Those fat fast food gourmets enjoy to waste their fast feet time. Having lively conversation about great important things. Nobody’s got troubles, and who has got some won’t admit it. While picking the last bone waffling negligible shit, cracking dirty jokes on their so called friends. They mock themselves with it. The masquerade is getting to the high spot again, like a hundred times before, it’ll always be the same. Everybody tries to play the role the best they can, although it’s known that no one will applaude in the end. Tell me, show me the core of truth behind that shell of fun and happiness. Tell me why you wrap yourself in unreal colours. Show the face behind your mask! One man in the corner is sitting still for hours. There’s no smile on his lips, no joke comes from his mouth. They’re banished from his mind tonight, rest in discord. Your happiness is hurting me, your laughter makes me cry. Your colours aren’t true, your friendship is a lie. The mask it doesn’t suit you, it’s much bigger than the face you hide. And when the party’s over they sway out in the night. Morning’s almost broken, fall into bed and keep your dreams alive! One man on the corner, he hasn’t got no rest, he’s looking for some truth tonight. Can’t find some here, nor somewhere else I guess. Tell me, show me ...

Inner World Good night sun, your work is done. Sister moon is coming soon. Mother earth go to sleep, lead the light into the deep. Senses fade, thoughts awake. Daylight fears disappear. Born into an endless stream, on the threshold of a dream. Another time, another place, different faces, different names, another age, another space. There’s neither morning nor yesterday. Everyone is everywhere, regardless of whether they are far or near. Secrets of the inner world, unknown and inscrutable, take you further than feet can go to horizons never known. At the end of your timeless journey the clock has just been ticking the night away, away, away...

Carry Me Away Wounded hands writing poetry on withered leaves. Poems for wounded hearts, for wounded hearts. Empty thoughts floating out of mind, never meant to return. Born to be a soap bubble in the wind. Carry me away, back to the end, where it all began, all began, carry me away Where the hours paralysed, where the opposites harmonized, where the sadness liquified, where the soul was sacrificed. Diving for a pearl of truth in the oceans of distrust. Taking a deep breath in the storm, trying to reach the coast of dawn. Dumb lips speaking noiseless words, bound for deaf ears. Silent echoes die away, they fly away. Empty glass in the candle light. No drop left. Yellowed curtain waving in the wind. Carry me away, back to the end, where it all began, all began, carry me away Carry me away, back to the end, where it all began, all began, carry me away