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This poem |
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geschrieben am: 07.02.2005 um 15:53 Uhr
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I'm writing you this poem,
lying on my bed.
Askin' what you're doing
and I'm feeling sad.
I remember all the good times,
now I can't trust you anymore.
But now I think sometimes:
The time with you was a time with violence and gore.
Everyday i ask me why,
why you mleft me alone
and why I can't rewach the sky.
All your feelings for me are gone,
but it's okay... |
Adolf H... dem sein Bart ist einer von besond'rer Art.
Kinder, da ist etwas faul; so ein kleiner Bart und so ein großes Maul.
[Berthold Brecht]
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