We surely have no secrets left
But it is so fucking cowardly to leave
The bohemians, the poets are pigs
And On The Road the stupidest shit that I have ever read
Because heroes and heroines stay put
With their back up against the wall
Only skin against the sharp edge
And they scratch and hit and bite
For their life or someone else's
They get no reward
But they ask for nothing
They only do, bite together, and shut up
Baby what we want to have most of all
Is something that can never be ours
November is a wall of wet concrete
Where a silly dream of escape is born
To crash and then die
But heroes and heroines stay put
They spit hard against the wind
And they warm our hands
So we don't let go
Of the love that we deserve
They dare to believe and hope
That someone up there sees us
Someone who wants to forgive rather than condemn us
For something that we didn't know we did