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lyric poetry

fette schwarze Dollars in einem Wein-Faßraum
ich ging auf und ab die Straßen
irgendwo las ich eine merkwürdige, alte, rostige Geschichte
meine Mutter unterrichtete mich daß jede Nacht
die Qual des Habens zu vieler Energie
bewiesen im Schimmer in Ihren Augen
gaily durch die Felder tanzten wir
in seinem vorsichtigen Zelt
aus dem Fenster heraus ein Meer der grünen Bäume
nun da ich zu Ihnen abgekühlt bin
sie war eine Schönheit an den Tagen

 



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