I write your names
In the sand
But I could only lie
Then your image would be long gone
I give you my names
Call you
You would be seven now
No miracle is crueller than this:
Because I don't know how you laugh
I don't know how you cry
How you smell
How you speak
You're made of gold to me
The view through children's eyes
Of poverty old
Long known pictures
Almost familiar pain
The fields are cultivated
But not for you
Empty children's souls
No miracle is crueller than this:
Because I don't know how you laugh...
I don't know your names
I wished I would forget
But I can't do it
I only did,
What the war ordered...
You were seven years old then
No Wunder is crueller than this
Because I don't know how you laugh...