i want to be moved by things,
even if they leave me empty
afterwards.
i want to be known
by someone who's brave enough
to dare and explore
the most profound depths
of my soul.
i want to always be seen as i am,
not as i was before;
that person is long gone.
i want to be loved like a sky on fire,
like a flood of devastation,
like a stolen kiss
before the end of the world.
i want to be moved by things,
even if there's nothing
but a lifeless desert
in their wake,
even if they leave me empty
afterwards.

maybe if i was funny
you'd like me more,
maybe if i was pretty
you'd finally want me.
should i be loud or quiet,
honest or lying,
laughing or crying;
what would you prefer?
maybe if i was
somebody else,
the worst or the best,
or nothing at all;
maybe if i was funny
you'd like me more.

it's a feeling that hits you
in the back
like the firmness
of a stranger's handshake.
it's you.
it was always going to be you.
cold fingers beg
for some warmth,
and knees melt
at the very thought
of letting this one go.
and the temples pulse
in unison,
synchronized heartbeat
of the drums.
it's a feeling that hides
around the corner,
like the drunken haziness
of your mind.
it's you.
it was always going to be you.

if he was so eager to get her,
he'd be there by now.
he'd run in the middle of streets,
throw himself under cars.
or maybe just hurry a bit;
not a casual stroll,
not a regular walk.
he certainly would've rushed there,
not to fight, but to talk.
he'd jump in a taxi
or catch the last train to her town.
if he was so eager to love her,
he'd already be there
by now.

do you know
when the party
begins to wear out,
when the laughters
don't burst as often,
and the fireworks
no longer ignite
in their eyes;
when the twilight
reminds of sunrise,
and their tongues
are too caught up
for talking?
when the clarity comes
with a bittersweet pill,
a prescription
from someone's pocket;
when the shatters of fun
are divided between,
when they lie
on the floor,
watch the couple
next door,
make some coffee
and make a scene;
when confetti
is covered in footprints
and balloons collect dust
in the corners,
and the fireworks
no longer explode
in their hearts;
do you know
when the party is over?

i'm running out of sugar
to sweeten this pill,
running out of breath
on this racetrack for two,
running so terribly late
for your love.
you've been hiding in mirrors,
and even if it was ordered by law
to forget you,
i'd still look for your ghost
on the passenger seats
of every car.
in good morning coffee
and sweet dreams wine,
you're in ripples,
flipping my boat
upside down.
i'm running out of time,
running out of breath
on this racetrack for two,
running so terribly late
to be loved
by you.

we got married in a small church
outside a big city,
a building that saw better times,
surely,
but got on the time's bad side.
we believed that love could save us,
that love would set us free;
and a few years later
woke up, like strangers,
on the separate sides
of one bed.
where did that love go?
when did it disappear?
one doesn't walk
into the same river twice,
but falls for the same flaws,
same vices.
we shared our vows in a small church
outside a big city,
naive,
wrote them with our hopes,
tied them with gold.
a few years later,
where did that love go?