With all the thoughts
That you have thought of
And all the dreams
You've ever dreamt

With all your worshipping
Upon everlasting strength

And all your waste of hopes
And poetical lament

With every inner struggle
And every night's torment
You exist to be
Another's denouement.

So don't despair, love,
And end your discontent
For you have a purpose,
As you will have an end.

How much
I would wish
to be the shape
of your tear...

profane is the word you seek
when it comes to
looking up
this vicious word
called
love...

for how can one live
in deeper lies
than the imaginary
of permanent belonging?

for what is eternity
but a mortal's illusion,
and what is love,
but the sum of all of mankind's fears
and insecurities?

let us talk about that moment
where two strangers wake up together,
where reason is no longer dormant
and all the lust evaporated like ether.

and when the sun would rise
and shine on their lost bodies,
they would find theirselves dive
into the light's luscious *****.

because night is their secret keeper,
their key to a lock of dreams and lust,
while day is a cruel truth seeker
which none of them could ever trust.

you'd expect this to be the start
of a fairy tale, a long lasting love story,
starting with breakfast in a tiny mart,
ending with a ring in all its glory.

but then again, let's not be deceived
by the bare skin they shared
and the tension they relieved
during their alcoholic glare...

Because *** is just ***,
Plain and simple, like a treadmill run,
Having nothing to do with love
And everything to do with fun.