I was folding a dream behind the garbage bins
in a secluded spot of a bar garden.
I am sailing in a foul urinal,
the moon is my hat and the wind is my comb.
Girls fall away from me in rows,
I am drowning from bad conscience,
I am scraping around on a garbage heap of hearts.
Oh my God, how hard it is to love.
There are so many problems for me to face,
and as an extra, hanging around my neck is this
beheaded love.
Mirror, mirror tell me,
if it suits me?
Guys all away from me in rows,
everyone has better things to do.
I fluoresce in noisy solitariness
under the pale full moon.
There’s so much bullshit I have to fight,
my mind is confused by belligerent windmills.
There’s no danger, I’m only imagining it.
Then doctors come with weapons in their hands,
and if chemicals penetrate the veins,
then the island-dweller’s deserted spirit becomes a sea,
and his heart a cod, swimming around here somewhere.
There’s so much bullshit I have to fight,
a dozen demons in fool’s caps are snoring next to me.
I choose one, which one shall I like, which shall become my partner?