I am dancing on the surface of watery memories
To a song of long lost, precious melodies.
To a transparent silence searching for answers
To a poem of sorrowful, lonely actors
To the slow, careful brushes of the painter today
And tomorrow maybe I´ll hear someone pray.
For all I remember is the absence of love
Neither first nor last, nor another I heard of.
Did I forget it or never felt it at all?
Am I still human or just a lifeless doll?
I watch them all walking by, one or two.
I never noticed the sketches I drew.
Of the sun and the clouds on a blue, blue sky
Of the sad smiles when they say goodbye.
Maybe I´m broken, but I am never sad.
Or maybe I´m fine and the world is mad.
In the end I can´t bring myself to care.
(What a liar I am in my mindless despair)
I scatter the sketches on the sky I can´t touch
I reach out, but really, it doesn´t help much.
My prayer never reached anyone here
The image in my head will just disappear
The poem will be buried by a happy end
And finally the questions will just pretend
That the noise is something worth of a melody
And the memories will burn with private jealousy.
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 3:50 PM UTC
I am dancing on the surface of watery memories
To a song of long lost, precious melodies.
To a transparent silence searching for answers
To a poem of sorrowful, lonely actors
To the slow, careful brushes of the painter today
And tomorrow maybe I´ll hear someone pray.
For all I remember is the absence of love
Neither first nor last, nor another I heard of.
Did I forget it or never felt it at all?
Am I still human or just a lifeless doll?
I watch them all walking by, one or two.
I never noticed the sketches I drew.
Of the sun and the clouds on a blue, blue sky
Of the sad smiles when they say goodbye.
Maybe I´m broken, but I am never sad.
Or maybe I´m fine and the world is mad.
In the end I can´t bring myself to care.
(What a liar I am in my mindless despair)
I scatter the sketches on the sky I can´t touch
I reach out, but really, it doesn´t help much.
My prayer never reached anyone here
The image in my head will just disappear
The poem will be buried by a happy end
And finally the questions will just pretend
That the noise is something worth of a melody
And the memories will burn with private jealousy.
