-But you then?
How do you do it?
-Here they always talk about me
but what do you do,really?
-You change my words
convert me
misquote
freeze me out
over and over again
Trow jokes about me
when you know I can hear you
Backstab
dishonor
betray your own
over and over again.
-You that tell me who I am;
You censure me
when I try to defend myself
-You that want me to hide
in between my hair;
so that every light can rest on your greatness.
You dry your fingers on everything
I had deserved
Afterwards you make your best speech ever;
about your good Samaritan
-You that laugh at my words
-You that would have destroyed my books
if I let you.
The real communication problem is maybe;
-That we don't want to understand
that we don't dare to discover other roads
than those we walk
Because maybe there is something there
that is so misunderstood
that we would have to break out
from everything we thought
was so good...
Ignorance
cuts us from
each other...
You pick me out
to cold war
8 o'clock in the morning
when we stand in frost smoke and autumn air
and exchange looks
Wish we had our own guards with battle music
-but very often;
you have yours here...
A new hard day
sneaks up on you
already when you are hidden
under your sheets
Destiny hangs in the silence
and around your tiny clock arrows
that will soon get you...
...Destiny
-hidden in between tall brick buildings
There we will get hundred morals
pushed up in our brain
Some we will push out again
others will stay
Some will be used as defense
others as attack
And you know;
-we never do that
the same way...
The real point is maybe;
How we knead it
what temperature we use on it
and what comes out of the oven in the end
-How we make it become our freedom
how we tame ourselfs;
trough generations
trough religion
trough time
-How we learn to close our eyes;
to differences
to opportunities
to honesty
All of these things
you don't understand
Because you always close your door
to keep everything outside from you...
So in cold autumn morning
When we stand and look each other in the eye
Pick out in the crowd;
-maybe companions
-maybe patriot's of your words
-Yes they will maybe become soldiers
and you will be a leader in an expensive uniform...
I think these things
as I imagine your blinking medals
on your jacket...
-You will sure look good...
I'm always circling around my own destiny
here on our battlefield
I peer trough the frost smoke
trying to discover if some here are friends
in some way
But I always meet your eyes
at the end of the line
and now I can see
that you see
that I'm really tired
and my time here is running out...
-Because there in frost smoke
and early September morning
Your hardest weapon is
that you know;
-Not so many will pick me
I don't have any power basis like you
I don't have anything to promise
All my good speeches
are hidden in the night
of honesty and tears of hopelessness
No one will carry me when I fall here
All my followers will turn against me
in the end..
Maybe I only really have
the endless fight
with my words
every day...