That's all folks!

You people know where to look when your eyes lay weary
And they don’t rest behind crystal tears.
You got so many places to have fun, run and die...
Well, open a new way out.
Tell me now honey, tell me truth
Have you ever been dancing all night long?
How many stars did you count?
How many times did you hear the sea sliding upon the cliff?
I can’t remember.
I pretended to be winged sometimes,
I would like to hear that whine once more
Still wasting myself away and letting the sun come here with no strain
No words,
Stars make no sound.
There might be some quiet in the misty night
Doing the snow to be more high and the river flood up.
I smelt your scent around tearing my breast like a lance.
I would like to read higher, over the heads of the ancient ones
about what moved their deeds
what came from their hearts and what came out of a reason never true
Furtum est contrectatio rei fraudolosa lucri faciendi
gratia vel ipsius rei vel etiam usus eius possessionisve
Always unfair, changeable, fickle and faint…
What had we been stolen, what is to be given back to us?
Tell me great wise man, I’d love to know how many
Times the servant will give up to the master
And whether the lady does hand out kisses from her sugary lips
or go along with sailors that die slapping the foam of the seas
waking on vessels of silver hiding trinkets of copper
will she render the bitter view?
I wished I had a dry mind, easy to oblivion
indulgent to amenity, if any…
A mind where the dark rules just needing a fake light to read.
Quasi quidquam infelicius sit homine cui sua
figmenta dominantur
Spirit believes by nature and by nature the will does love;
Because lack of real things, they cling on to fake ones indeed.
There might not be any authority out of us
It rests inside of us and made us free from a god
to slave ourselves to the demon within.
Now you tell me if
What you pretend, crave for, call it by magic,
has a soul within it by means of your longings…
Wünshen: to want, to wish
Zaubern: to charm
I belong to myself, that’s just a poor thing
Not to find love, comfort or peace save in me, within me, only to me.
What’s the search of spirit if I’m going to lose my flesh and change into a mild shape?
I am a rule coming out of another rule most general which encloses me in.
Where is my target?
I’m not to touch the edge of your garments any longer,
they will fall upon my face as cold and smooth as sheets
I’ll bare my countenance out and break my chains down...
I don’t want any eyes
We greeted Foucalt’s perspective
It looked something not ephemeral to consider our freedom
But the power takes over again and again, it shuts all the space for the spirit to fly
It doesn’t find enough opponents
So, established learning decides which place lives and speech are allowed to meet each other
And it regulates what is fake and what is real

Think that any elsewhere to exist?
Where lives are shared,
An exodus, a new exodus,
A migration to a new land...
Fragilitas
We want an unswerving cause to assume the good into the rule of our will
Save the rule ends up to be the faint cause when it comes to action

Rise up
Come down
Catch the wind
Untie the cloak
Enclose the waters
Draw the borders

Shall I drink from that cup again...?
And, if you do know, tell me the name of the son!