Wij sleuren ons samen
door blijheid, boos en tranen.
Ik wil gaan zoals we kwamen,
zonder naast-de-schoenen-wanen.

We zijn ons en we zijn samen weer
net het zelf en toch iets meer.

The biggest shocker, show-stopping,
nose-bopping hurtlocker of these latest years
is a flash of news that unscrews
every piece of wooden furniture
in someone's chopped up past or oh-so blurred future.

I've noticed people around me dying
long before the scoops rang ears, as early as when
I had these nightly, lightly fantasized darkness lurking fears.
It is only now that I am grasping what that all entails.

Everyone is suffering in ways and more or less.
Everyone gets cold no matter how much coffee
they daily hold
up high, before their noses and then under.

I'm guessing everyone was, as well, at one point
scared of thunder. Right now you'll say you're not.
But when it strikes the coffee will, once more, be way too hot.

People are dying. A lot of them for nought.
Right before I do, I'd like to say I'm happy with
for which of all the sides I fought.

I've always said I'd do what's right,
form a cross, ask for blessings
and kiss goodnight.
I never knew to be in love to be much of
a fight.
I never thought the hard-wrought fictions
carried wisdom more than foolery.

As it turns out I've always been
the fool I thought I hadn't seen.
I see now the mistakes of a path in past
and say, once again, this one was my last.

Regendruppels, suikerspinnen,
smelt wat vlugger, gauw naar binnen,
waar eskimo's en indianen
achter glas en via banen

vertellen wat het echte leven is.

Ik kan naar buiten gaan wanneer d
e zon weer schijnt
zonder dat het voelt alsof
drie dagen waren gepasseerd.

Of ik kan binnen blijven.

Kijk, wij zijn wijn-
drinkers, bedorven
stinkers met grote glazen
en kleine hoofden.

Ik zie dubbel
zoveel losers met
een wijndrinkbrevet
op het internet.

Hihi, slimme mensen drinken wijn.
Dan zullen wij, girl, vast wel super slim zijn.

We'll get there
when we get there.
And when we do
I'll light some candles
just for you.

I've seen and heard,
enjoyed and purred
at the stories of old,
the silence of mold.

I've folded and weaved,
gently miscleaved,
broken and barren,
answered to Charon.

My bed is too small
and my rope's a bit tight.
I bring justice for all,
even just for one night.