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when you cant do nothing – part two

the walls are growing thin
reality peeks in
we’re in need of closure
but don’t know where to begin
it’s eat my shorts and talk to the hand
who gives a damn
we’re on the streets
we’re inside out
it’s awfully quiet
when we scream and shout

solitudes and multitudes
the other is more
and therefore
not only different in number
but also in kind – unkind for that matter

i’ll cut off all my fingers one by one
until they no longer hesitate

i can write no more
and you can’t read and you can’t write
i can read no more
somehow it got lost in the corridor
of thought
when you can’t do nothing
and there is nothing you can do
when you ask yourself
if staying is going too far
or how far you will go to stay
when losing it is the only way
for you to win
when finishing up
means to begin
when change is the only way for you
to be who you are
when you can’t do nothing and you’re caught
in the misapprehension that there is nothing
you can do
don’t think twice to act
for once

no one says it’s going to be easy
but the chaos is a little too close to home
to stay out late – stay out
when the atheists around you are losing faith

you can be inside the coffin
you are not necessarily dead
you may walk any kind off
any kind of hallways and not test positive for vital signs
day turns into night
days turn into nights
the roads lead nowhere
and you you’ve been there already

hearts soaked in blood
backwards into the future
centuries last seconds
the concept of tomorrow
makes sense no longer
no longer makes sense
when you can’t do nothing
the nothing you can do
will have to do or die

 

so it’s your daughter who’s dead
she’s not run over you say
she’s not lying on the street
somewhere and no screeching wheels
or lights flashing
she’s just dead
no one comes around
to ask you what you’ll do
no hidden guns and no money
exchanged in dark alleys
no long sentences awaiting behind that phone call
eventually to be made
after you’ve done a deed as undoable
as the one already done
there’s no one to blame and no stories to tell
about last words murmured to some unseen entity
while she was gasping for air
in dusky or slightly lit suburbs of the unknown
big city
she’s just dead
it’s your daughter who’s dead

you’re not crying for help
or crying at all
you’re just here just like it’s your daughter
who is not

so the walls are growing thin
and reality peeks in
we need closure
but we don’t know where to begin
it’s eat my shorts and talk to the hand
who gives a damn
we’re on the street
we’re inside out
it’s awfully quiet
when we scream and shout

it’s awfully quiet