One Friday morning chasing cold away,
slightly raining, fast to walk
I had everything I’ve ever dreamed,
love awakes me for my team
soldier for a good cause,
I got a firm handshake as foretold…
Hunting moments on a bed of clouds
lips paint warm hues in the mind,
garden of the kings, waiting for the Queen
we wrote stories dancing on vinyls,
and waiting for a while and hoping wishes
a second train ran her to the south…
Hey there Alice, how do you do!
I have found a song that makes me think of you,
of all the evenings skating long past bedtime
and some funny dyed star that you could not see,
Alice,
I remember everything…
It’s a song I sang with you,
coffee in the shower, cigarettes after sex
we did not need pretexts
nor a book to guide us through,
love was blank for us to write
“I would have done everything with you”
I wish I’d do,
go up that hill once more with you…
Alice dearest, how do you do!
It’s a song I listen to
filled with autumn leafs and Bible queries,
one way or another
we’re going far and even farther,
for true sinners there is no earthly border
and I already confessed,
my fears killed the best I never had…
Sing with me
skin on skin, and the space between,
a little prayer
it’s alright, as I am fading out,
don’t let me fall
a high pitched toll will break the wall,
Alice,
put your arms and pull me under…
Alice, I do!
There was an impossible love,
a love no longer possible
yet there it was,
love,
that was long possible…
You make me smile and I bring you waffles
there are roses in a jar and the coffee’s whistling,
hidden once more under the blankets
I read you stories from the morning paper
and Steve ran out and is waking up the neighbors…
Your opera stance is mostly garbage
but you have all of Mark Knopfler on vinyl
and that’s really fine for my dancing skills blow,
but when out walking our steps rhyme
and when indoors crying it’s like everybody died…
You worry too much where I imagine crazy stuff
and it’s bad for cholesterol and for both our hearts
but you make me smile and I make you pies,
I am an ungrateful bastard every once in a while
so I write you poems and you tend to forgive…
“Your mistakes are your best teachers”
no word about chicken in your fortune cookies
so I promised to stay up to the journey’s end,
when you look up at me I get warm and fuzzy
and hands lock like lovers on that bridge in Köln…
You gave me a painting and so many books to read
I have the plant you brought to groom and grow
and I live in France and have croissants everyday,
there’s a place you also love where I’d like to go
it’s up in the mountains not far from home…
It’s almost midnight
my thoughts went chasing falling stars,
in the long past dark
my eyes are writing hearts
and on a river sailing west
I kept a promise to my friend
I held the words and gave my chest
a longing for your head to rest…
It’s three minutes past
my arms are paddles in the grass
the rain is warm on my back
and I pour sand over my steps,
and in the silence that falls
I read chapters in the Psalms
and my heart tolls strong
without riddles or restrain…
I am dancing,
I have dreams I’ve never dared to have
dark is becoming a shade of the light,
my eyes shine,
I love you heart of mine, how could I have been so cruel?
mornings are a painting I once saw in France,
and then I did pray and confess –
I’d do everything with you once more
changing parts that played out wrong…
Be mad and let’s jump off Pont Neuf together
when in love we’re so much better,
I’ll build you a home
we’ll walk in the sky at noon together
you will wear sandals in the snow,
the words we spoke are forever
will you be there to rise a cross for shelter?
believe the world is better
and my thoughts will never shatter…
Cu picioarele desculțe,
aleargă gândul meu în roua rece
și cu aripile zări se scufundă în soare;
ridică ochii spre văzduhuri,
razele să îți sărute chipul
în timp ce îți fur o îmbrățișare…
Is it me or is it Alice,
when I cut the rope it starts raining,
hands be moving and two penny rolling down the page to thirty,
show me mercy…
show me kindness
I am hiding in the laughing, smiling faces to the floor
and the days are getting shorter and the nights are getting old,
fancy ice-cream on the highway, chocolate in the heart of storm
it’s a name my lips be spelling as a fan of Rolling Stones,
like a hopper in the grass
like a monster with a dress
they had red wine for a breakfast in the middle of the west…
So is it me, or is it Alice,
days were gone and couldn’t notice
Grandma’ told me to be fair
but the heart of things to come will not take another turn,
fifty steps along the rhyme may not spill the fairy’s tail
nor the pockets full of gold
and the hundred sixty something of the words I could have told;
Alice darling,
are we really getting old?
the story stands, the hippie hands, with tattoos at the ends,
a suburb house with funny trees
two kids and a dog called Steve and a cat we gave no name…
Is it me or is it Alice,
that we want to start anew
getting young is not for lonesome but for all the very few,
killing me and killing you
giving birth to someone new….
Un Jurnal Neverosimil 