| Would you cry about happiness
|
| If I put it in properly
|
| When you say I don't dare
|
| No more closing your eyes
|
| You can't get caught very easily
|
| That lost youth
|
| And insane feeling
|
| When it's smashed for the first time
|
| Well maybe life needs it
|
| Sometimes explain to yourself
|
| And break down in mind
|
| Why the patterns are wrong
|
| With it hardly even
|
| One can guess in his dreams
|
| Who gets and to whom it is given
|
| And how cowardly the gift of happiness is shared here
|
| It can't be fucked up
|
| Sut though the heel is carried
|
| Out to calm down
|
| When searching for reasons are sought
|
| That bullet came from the doorway
|
| From a passing car
|
| Took a spur from the guitar
|
| And the porter hit the calf
|
| And even in less than a quarter of an hour
|
| There was an official spot
|
| And the whole village was under siege
|
| When the factors were known
|
| Not found but
|
| A mere rattling tin bucket full of bullet holes
|
| And from the bus stop in the cold with its girlfriend
|
| A bag in his hand
|
| I don't know if I tried at all
|
| It even depresses the brake pedal
|
| Or did I forget to brake
|
| In that northern curve
|
| I'm sorry about everything
|
| There is nothing else to remember about evil
|
| In the lane of the recipients
|
| It's fucking skating
|
| With it hardly even
|
| One can guess in his dreams
|
| Who gets and to whom it is given
|
| And how cowardly the gift of happiness is shared here
|
| It can't be fucked up
|
| Sut though the heel is carried
|
| Out to calm down
|
| When searching for reasons are sought
|
| But don't confess anything
|
| Don't even tell about the baby
|
| However, no one understands
|
| What is felt is together
|
| I promise to mail the card
|
| Somewhere a little further away
|
| If I don't get it anyway
|
| Its wind will carry you
|
| Would you cry about happiness |