Memories of days gone by
Are here to haunt for ever:
The essence of a seagull’s cry
Between right now and never.

Memories of days long past
Return to stalk the shadows:
A heart is nailed to each ship’s mast
With blood in streams and meadows.

Memories of days long gone
Add fuel to these fires:
They tell a story, once upon
A time of void desires.

I do things the wrong way:
I search a haystack in a needle,
Too close for missiles
And too far for comfort.

It is too much for my own good
And not enough to win your heart,
A bit of something
With the taste of nothing.

I do things the wrong way:
A word is worth a thousand pictures,
I hope for the worst
And prepare for the best.

I am too true for my own good
And not enough to fuel your fire,
I chase my dreams
And follow them into the night.

I have a heart
That in my chest
Beats like a madman
’Gainst the bars
Of the gaol cell
That keeps it
Like a bird encaged
From its mate

I wear a heart
Right on my sleeve
That beats towards you
Like a bird
That’s driven south
When winter calls
And knows no
Other destination

If I exist here,
I am the word indeed,
As the word is I.
But the letters
Are only words
For those
Who can read,
And they do not mean anything
In this vast space
Of random thoughts
Of existence.

There is always an empty page to be filled,
And words are our means of doing so.
But what, if anything, can we do to fill
The emptiness in our hearts –
Black holes that tear
Into the very essence of our being?
Soon all shall be consumed by darkness,
Erasing memories both dear and painful –
Soon it will all mean nothing.

[Please scroll down for an English translation.]

Keine Hoffnung toter Träume:
Ich dreh mich nicht mehr um mich selbst.
Ich lebe zwischen Streichhölzern
Und glaubte, mir gehört die Welt

Warum soll ich die Wunden lecken,
Die Zeichen meines Lebens sind?
Ich denke oft an stille Post –
Vielleicht hörst Du mir doch mal zu.

Und abends geht die Sonne auf,
Weil ich es will in meinem Traum.
Antworten sind Gift für Seelen,
Weil die Fragen sie erdrücken.

Denkst Du oft an mich beim Schlafen?
Ich weiß nicht, ob das wichtig ist.
Ich bereue nur, Dich nie gefragt zu haben:
Vermißt Du eigentlich Spanien?
___________
ENGLISH TRANSLATION:

No hope of dead dreams:
I do not revolve about myself any longer.
I live among matches
And presumed the world belonged to me.

Why should I lick the wounds
That are marks of my life?
I often think of Chinese whispers –
Perhaps you will listen to me once.

And in the evening, the sun rises
Because I want it so in my dream.
Answers are venomous to souls,
Since questions stifle them.

Do you think of me often in your sleep?
I do not know whether it matters.
I only regret never to have asked you:
Do you ever miss Spain?

You are a fickle thing to hold and keep together,
Thus shards of you escape my best attempts.
And just when I thought you were here with me,
It would appear that you had kissed into the sky
With orange light, the wildest cloud formations,
And every single bit of I know not how or why.