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A
BALLAD |
December's first Tuesday
has not opened up a season of anything new
I still hear you whispering
that I am to blame for romance
Though it is too late
I do not stop remembering
Tonight I will
armed with a short black coat
travel
and I will bring this song to an end
I will remember Hamburg
and Anne
It will be a song for sunflowers
and not a curse due to bad trades
I irreversibly traded in
unforgotten first love
for many some kind of emotions
bad words
have never chosen the right moment
That has been told to me by wind
and with its horror it has counted
how many are waiting
to feel me
perfect
as
I flirt with the sisters of fortune
I open their doors of clay
kissing magnificent hidden necks
I imagine boring midnight rituals
After
some candid thinking
I wonder if there are
right moments
for bad words
As
I make with the typewriter
I swim with an electric eel
dance with a golden saxophone
I
just want
to
bring this song to an end the best way that
I can
and I want to go back
although I do know that you have gone without saying goodbye
in cold blood
Now
when I am slightly sober
the role of a real man
begins to appeal to me
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