***** "Black flies on the windowsill<br>That we are<br>That we are<br>That we are to know<br>Winter stole summer's thrill and the river's cracked and cold<br><br>See the sky is no man's land, a darkened plume to stay<br>Hope here needs a humble hand, not a fox found in your place<br><br>And no man is an island, oh this I know<br>But can't you see, oh?<br>Maybe you were the ocean, when I was just a stone<br><br>Black flies on the windowsill<br>That we are<br>That we are<br>That we are to hold<br>Comfort came against my will<br>And every story must grow old<br><br>Still I'll be a traveler<br>A gypsy's reins to face<br>But the road is wearier<br>With that fool found in your place<br><br>And no man is an island, oh this I know<br>But can't you see, oh?<br>Maybe you were the ocean, when I was just a stone<br><br>So here we are...<br><br>And I don't wanna beg your pardon and I don't wanna ask you why<br>But if I was to go my own way would I have to pass you by?"<br><br>Großartiger Text, eine ergreifende Melancholie, die beinahe ins Bombastische gerät. Denn Einsamkeit ist tatsächlich ein großes, ja, riesengroßes Gefühl, wenn es einen erst einmal ergreift.<br> |