Mich würden mal die Texte, die ihr so schreibt (also auch Gedichte, etc) interresieren...
Hier einer den ich für eine Freundin geschrieben habe:
The missing one is singing,
Nobody can hear him,
Is he hear or is he alive?
Can’t see any sunlight,
Tears of blood running out of him,
Standing on a bridge,
Not knowing where he’s going
Or for what he’s waiting.
Just 14 years,
But an old man filled with bitterness,
Devil’s waiting,
The crocodiles are dancing in the streets,
Waiting for his blood.
Ref:
The story is already told,
The painting is drewn,
His destiny is fixed.
Mother is crying,
Seeing her boy walking to the moon,
Bleeding roses in the garden.
In the moment of truth she can see an angelface,
Darkness imprisoning her.
She’s sitting in the empty room,
Playing the black guitar of death,
Reading in a book how she will die alone,
Only a tortured soul being with her.
She has no idea that she’s not alone,
But she doesn’t care.
Crying seems to be her only faith,
Tears of fear dying on her face.
A witness of hate,
Disturbing all of her time.
The knife’s blade is twinkling,
And then it’s done.
Ref:
The story is already told,
The painting is drewn,
His destiny is fixed.
Mother is crying,
Seeing her daughter walking to the moon,
Bleeding roses in the garden.
In the moment of truth she can see an angelface,
Darkness imprisoning her.
Two souls,
Now they are free in their dreams,
Getting more life than they ever had,
But they failed in becoming a star.
Ref…