The shadows of the people flicker on and off, Lit up by the dying street lights There’s the smell of rubber and moisture in the air There’s far too much talk to call this silence Accordingly, my point of view won’t stay fixed It skips over the stars and moves on to the northeast Moths gather, but in any case, it’s futile They burn down in my dreams, and after that, there’s nothing left
A ticket to ride with no destination The evening scenery at the end of this life Please take me quickly To the wasteland at the other side of the world
There are dog bones in the summer garden, Piles of corpses marking the date I’ll trample upon them to head for tomorrow, Singing until I spit up blood With the notes of bronchitis The cold wind from the northern mountains radiates in all directions, And even the desecration Of the flowers that bloom there is allowed
There’s a steam whistle in my body signaling my departure My blood is my escape route Why is it that whenever I set out on a journey and draw near, I find myself getting farther away? I shout out with irritation even more, With the fractured scenery of today A sliver of it pierces the ground There’s an untainted shipwreck in February Speed and friction burn my organs