You were a pain in my chest,
and worse than an insanity in my head,
an unwelcome guest in my heart, a thin bone in my throat
when I am without a breath of air.
A dead end and a cold home,
a black sky over Belgrade,
that's what you were to me, but now don't worry
I have survived that.
After you I am a woman
who has been wounded by love.
Ref:
Whose wings are you clipping now?
Whose bedlinen are you dirtying?
Whose skin are you getting under
right down to the bone.
Whose days are you darkening with sadness,
Who are you dressing in black?
Who is crying for you these days
when she is left alone at night?
She is my sister in sadness (literally: tear-shed).
Why all this pressure now?
Oh, now I'll need an anaesthetic
to not feel the pain, to not remember you,
in the long nights
I am ashamed that I was seeking out
an angel in the guise of a devil.
I have lost, I know, on the Western Wall
I wrote your name.
After you I am a woman
who has been wounded by love.