mother merci

well there’s that girl, mother yet,
who digs 3000 beats of my heart deep,
and keeps it still up, pumping increases strongly and steep, every minute
and i weep to her baby, cause this bloody red thing in my body is not doing anything right.
i haven’t even seen her for a long time; once and last.
and i show people don’t believing me what it meant to me bleeding. Haha
No seriously, I’m talking about a long weather cold front
comin towards me and me not being able to stand it.
(i’d hand it over if you know what i mean.)

enough walked,
enough seen
in all these
uncertain crises…
circles… christ.

i feel…
i feel like a sailor driven out on a stormy day out to fish
not catching one and getting home wasted
mercylessly.
so far.
going down with motherly waves in the muddy water
of real life
taken for a ride with the slide hope of continuously satisfaction.

No, the chances are, chances are maybe not as grown up
as the glass of whisky in my hand in this train
no time to lose
no time to develop
not knowing what to choose
and waiting for nothing.

Beautiful lips she has.
Beautiful thoughts. Hmm

So yeah mum, coming along
with sugar from these nice and sweet tea cups
given out in those coffee places where the coffee is more than three bucks
feeling fancy with you baby
hmm… feeling fancy.

It’s like an over digested navigation
hallucinating because of blindness.
And i’d still appreciate it getting
a note before being lead into vitiation
with a Dracula moon,
Bloodless.

call it an emotional insubordination
mother mercy….
this hangover in the twilight
is more hangin over than
your socks on the clothesline.

Like leprechauns sittin on the line
waitin for the right time to greet me with
‚hello sucker,
this is fait.‘
and me standing there with a white iranian
sweater, incapable to move.
Suckin deliciously in vain the seconds of dust…
Yeah i like my spliss flying with a little gust through the wide side of country sights.
Abnormally unimportant.

honey has been brought back home a few hundred miles in a brown sack with a dollor sign
hmmm, let’s lick it a bit baby, before getting a cab.
stretching my fingers out to grab anything i can get and finding a swallow.
soft and warm, hmm.

so where are you, woman i’m trying to reach?
still got those flowers and the by now rotten peach you gave me for the ride
with a bright and wet smile on your face of what i thought was being glad.
oh well, maybe that brunette beauty of yours baby was just bedazzling me too bad to see.
so it’s cold all over.

(and i’m still longing for you like an unextinctable candle) well there’s that girl, mother yet,
who digs 3000 beats of my heart deep,
and keeps it still up, pumping increases strongly and steep, every minute
and i weep to her baby, cause this bloody red thing in my body is not doing anything right.
i haven’t even seen her for a long time; once and last.
and i show people don’t believing me what it meant to me bleeding. Haha
No seriously, I’m talking about a long weather cold front
comin towards me and me not being able to stand it.
(i’d hand it over if you know what i mean.)

enough walked,
enough seen
in all these
uncertain crises…
circles… christ.

i feel…
i feel like a sailor driven out on a stormy day out to fish
not catching one and getting home wasted
mercylessly.
so far.
going down with motherly waves in the muddy water
of real life
taken for a ride with the slide hope of continuously satisfaction.

No, the chances are, chances are maybe not as grown up
as the glass of whisky in my hand in this train
no time to lose
no time to develop
not knowing what to choose
and waiting for nothing.

Beautiful lips she has.
Beautiful thoughts. Hmm

So yeah mum, coming along
with sugar from these nice and sweet tea cups
given out in those coffee places where the coffee is more than three bucks
feeling fancy with you baby
hmm… feeling fancy.

It’s like an over digested navigation
hallucinating because of blindness.
And i’d still appreciate it getting
a note before being lead into vitiation
with a Dracula moon,
Bloodless.

call it an emotional insubordination
mother mercy….
this hangover in the twilight
is more hangin over than
your socks on the clothesline.

Like leprechauns sittin on the line
waitin for the right time to greet me with
‚hello sucker,
this is fait.‘
and me standing there with a white iranian
sweater, incapable to move.
Suckin deliciously in vain the seconds of dust…
Yeah i like my spliss flying with a little gust through the wide side of country sights.
Abnormally unimportant.

honey has been brought back home a few hundred miles in a brown sack with a dollor sign
hmmm, let’s lick it a bit baby, before getting a cab.
stretching my fingers out to grab anything i can get and finding a swallow.
soft and warm, hmm.

so where are you, woman i’m trying to reach?
still having those flowers and the by now rotten peach you gave me for the ride
with a bright and wet smile on your face of what i thought was being glad.
oh well, maybe that brunette beauty of yours baby was just bedazzling me too bad to see.
so it’s cold all over.

(and i’m still longing for you like an unextinctable candle)