Sport
ulrike maier
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Polluted, the water in the bathtub has become so cold
I turn the tap itâs barely lukewarm
We were so beautiful, but beautyâs never been nothing to feed me, to feed me
Contemplating and wondering how this chaos has become so real
Iâm falling, itâs fading, related, as dancers, weâre dancing, as lovers, weâre hating
We can try as hard as we can, not to grow in the same direction.
But it seems weâre just two branches attached to the same tree.
To the same tree, the same tree.
Or two seeds planted in the same soil
The rise looks endless, a few footsteps from the cliff
A clear horizon opens up to me
I drop your hand, start running, in need of bigger spaces
Confusion becoming a simple melody