We see each other in a café,
drinking together is passe.
You pass by me and ask,
"How's it going?"
The answer is:
I write songs,
about you in general and how you laugh. You laugh.
Since our end 97 days ago I'm directions without a destination.
The story of the new guy,
that you entrust me with,
won't put me off track. [lit: Won't throw me out of the train]
It comes too late again!
They're only empty words for me: That was it!
Again a life with fun after the "That was it!"
You talk about great love,
like that written about in the Bild. [newspaper like the national enquirer]
We were once Bonny and Clyde.
Now you have Ronny.
I feel sorry for you.
Once we were one,
now you're telling me about sex.
We used to be partners in crime, [lit: we use to steal horses together]
now you're riding him.
Maybe he drinks his coffee just like me.
But only I can sing,
that your laughter enchants me like nothing else.
Exactly 97 days ago I felt a deep hole in my chest.
Naked heart, a gaping wound and you stuck your finger in it,
talking about the good old days.
I have only two words for you:
That was it.