The glas you never drank out of,
the kitchen’s junk nobody needs,
and the fruits of plastic you optically are living on,
all of that is coming along,
and you too.
The piano that you can’t play on,
the washing-up you always delay,
and the chocolate, you are consuming in hospital’s quantity,
all of that is coming along,
and me too.
I want your hand, I want your mouth,
I want your head, I want your skin.
And all of the nonsens
I want too.
The hopes that you lost,
the wrath that never subsides entirely,
and the scatterbrained dreams, of which nothing remains in the morning,
all of that is coming along,
we need that too.
I want your hand, I want your mouth,
I want your head, I want your skin.
And all of the misery
I want too.
The mistakes, you can’t change anymore,
the words, you are regretting
and the nights, when you didn’t know, where to put yourself,
those aren’t coming along,
those we leave here.