Berlin, today you look so sad
it’s sunday, isn’t it?
I think of you
like I think of some joke
that one reads out loud during the week
and on the last day
is thrown away
because it isn’t funny anymore.
Seriously Berlin,
there’s no more laughter
on sundays.

Berlin, your asphalt has acne
just look in the mirror
you can’t go out like this
you re just plain ugly
not as **** anymore.
put up some make up
dress up like some real city
don’t play that card again,
Seriously Berlin,
there’s no more trick
for you to play.

Beneath the sheets there lie in bed
some things which cannot be,
because of other past half said
kind lies of immortality.

I saw those stripes and signs that show
how everyone should act
how buildings should call each other
when people interact,
how high are trees allowed to grow,
how fast one has to cross the street,
where children could play,
where adults have to hide
after left over bottles
are smashed in the sky.