It’s not me, who’s writing these words, Insisting to be alive, To the meaning but don‘t know Anything at all.
It’s not me, who keeps out of your view, Show off wrong side, not the face. It’s not me, who’ll be up in arms, when the battle‘s over and the land‘s in peace. It’s not me shouting at the others: „Go ahead and fight”! With the hole shot into the soul.
Crouching in the corner at one quiet night, Sleepless, begging on my knees, Like a restless child — it’s not me.
It’s not me, who’s confused about What is wrong and what is right, Telling the truth instead of a white lie. It’s not me, who’s always been asking But hasn’t anything to give back. It’s not me, taking the wrong way many times, Wanting to give it up all.
Crouching in the corner at one quiet night, In the agony I fell on my knees, Give a rabid sneer instead of a smile. Crouching in the corner at one quiet night, Fooling around, though the music of star spheres Sound in the air.
It’s not me, who’s going to grasp the bottle, It’s HER, she’s the deserter!!