I've played with soldiers since I was young.
Seas of plastic, a father's love.
Crumpled napkins and cheap balloons,
that burst before the guests have had their food.
Comatose and so morose,
a pale and heaving mess.
Your cousin's sneeze, an orange breeze,
will sweep away the rest.
Repressed.
It's madness.
Held your sorrow in polished glass.
Knowledge borrowed will never last.
Foolish shadow a leading man,
who shoves the words in just because he can.
Butter please. Increasingly,
I'm swallowing my voice.
Deeper still, a wish fulfilled,
and you without a choice.
Rejoice.
It's madness.
You won't stop telling me. You can't stop memory. Your voice is killing me. You don't make sense.

KORREKTUREN ÃœBERMITTELN