No strength, no feeling of pain is left.
Soul is eaten away by anguish as if by moth larvae.
Everyting is speeding into an abyss, and not for the first time.
And the meaning of friendly remarks equals to zero.
And everything is lost, sold, gifted to someone,
And a heart soaked in blood is served at dinner.
What's left is only dirt at the bottom of pockets.
And some sort of a feeling, something akin to hope.
She hears footsteps, they get quieter and quieter.
He became a crane again and will live somewhere above.
She's not waiting, she has forgiven him and cries
And a stupid friend is jiving her with hope.
Quietly the time runs out, and a naive lie
Is fitting its knife to the wrist of the left hand.
There was hope and it stayed futile,
It drips onto the floor with sticky red liquid.
You are alone from the start. But even if there's a friend
He won't see all the troubles on the palms of your hands.
He won't become brave in your stead if you were struck speechles
And won't be able to say what you wanted for you.
He can only help if something is wrong
When your eyes glaze over with the dark of desperation
When tears split your face equally into three parts,
And you can not count on yourself anymore.
Hope is self-deception, but it's all we have.
It changes hands, selling it's dignity.
This lying scum throws dust in our eyes
And disappears right when we need it most.
It will come and go many times,
Always keeping the coveted diamond at a distance.
Without hope I am killed, shot right through by anguish,
Because i had hope, but i didn't have certainty.