Maybe just hot air ,
probably burned out,
perhaps contemporary and we are not to blame ,
that no one can burn by us for anything ,
Legends die young
the most silent and arm
and in a hundred years ,
to consider time ,
if life is a disk ,
if you know it, horny for you.
We do not laugh , lift it up.
Eventually, our sky is already blue.
Because in the end everything is good again ,
and as long as it's not good to us ,
we can not see the end .
Because in the end everything will be fine again
and as long as it is not our good
we have no problem
And we jump ,
see us flying in the face ,
but prefer to fly
as silk shirts just ironing,
not even approach way us down ,
rather verkacken fully as shit in the bud .
Celebrated boredom,
big words, not deeds ,
small fish , big stomach.
Next and wait over 70 years,
the well-earned stamp on the master plan.
Or what is the problem?
Do we have a problem?
What is your problem?
What is your problem?
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