DieterM
09-25-2010, 07:35 AM
The pit, my son, is bottomless
and pitiless and circled by fat ravens,
my salty cheeks are burning while I fall,
is the sky grey?, is the day bright?,
how should I know, my eyes see black
and I weep…
I’ve lost all hope, my son, all questions,
I stand up, go to my armchair,
greet my friends ‘Jim’, or ‘Johnny’, or ‘Glen’,
they keep me company, drown my sobs
and sorrows, their answers sting my throat
while I weep…
My deep despair, my son, I see it
reflected in your childlike eyes,
I’m sorry, boy, I’d like to
hug you, comfort you, protect you,
but my force is washed away
by my weeps…
Your face, my son, is asking me
‘Why?’, but all that matters is ‘How?’,
it hurts, it empties me, it glues me
into my armchair, where I sit
all day long and stare into nothing
and weep…
And sometimes through the tears, my son,
I see a bright horizon lure,
I wait that you are gone and take
the pills and swallow them and
rinse my mouth with Whisky
and silent weeps…
I know, my son, that you will find me
unconscious in my armchair, almost
dead, almost there, almost touching my horizon,
you will call the ambulance and they will
pump away the longed-for calm in my stomach
but not my weeps…
and pitiless and circled by fat ravens,
my salty cheeks are burning while I fall,
is the sky grey?, is the day bright?,
how should I know, my eyes see black
and I weep…
I’ve lost all hope, my son, all questions,
I stand up, go to my armchair,
greet my friends ‘Jim’, or ‘Johnny’, or ‘Glen’,
they keep me company, drown my sobs
and sorrows, their answers sting my throat
while I weep…
My deep despair, my son, I see it
reflected in your childlike eyes,
I’m sorry, boy, I’d like to
hug you, comfort you, protect you,
but my force is washed away
by my weeps…
Your face, my son, is asking me
‘Why?’, but all that matters is ‘How?’,
it hurts, it empties me, it glues me
into my armchair, where I sit
all day long and stare into nothing
and weep…
And sometimes through the tears, my son,
I see a bright horizon lure,
I wait that you are gone and take
the pills and swallow them and
rinse my mouth with Whisky
and silent weeps…
I know, my son, that you will find me
unconscious in my armchair, almost
dead, almost there, almost touching my horizon,
you will call the ambulance and they will
pump away the longed-for calm in my stomach
but not my weeps…