In the middle of the city, between dust and street noise
A green bulge is growing from the bowels of the city
There, for the weekend, we hang our lungs out in the wind
Until their worn out wings are completely refreshed with air
The other day I’m sitting with an old lady on the bench
We talk about this and that, then I say: “Thank God
They finally realised, the fathers of this city,
that the likes of us need a bit of fresh air to breathe”
Mont Klamott - On the roof of Berlin
Mont Klamott - The fields are so green
Mont Klamott - On the roof of Berlin
Mont Klamott - The fields are so green
The old lady smiles wearily:
“Let them rest, the fathers of this city
They've been so dead since Germany's ascension to heaven
The mothers of this town put the mountain together cart by cart
Mont Klamott - On the roof of Berlin
Mont Klamott - The fields are so green
Mont Klamott - On the roof of Berlin
Mont Klamott - The fields are so green