Our dreams run directly to the bottlenecks.
beautiful centliters (are) like tones in a tearful waltz
Morning darkness, by mother courage
there is only some kind of similar era, farces named surrogate.
Through the window we see heart fields run along us
There are no doctors here, we have our own medicine.
(we are) full of love, full of hate
Here the blind man sees that we can not see clearly.
Come sisters and brothers
to those (people) who are bleeding
outside (???)
We are already here since the day they closed the café
We don't need anything from outside, we have gin and ...
(You know) we speak in tongues, we sing our own songs
We do all to avoid that what people call remorse
Come sisters and brothers
to those (people) who are bleeding
outside
Our dreams run directly to the throats of the bottles.
Centliters (are) beautiful like tones in a tearful waltz
The mad (man) is free
in Café Cosmopolite