Seven fishermen

You gave the key you need
To all your friends
Who’re caring for a fart
It’s you.
It is you.

You repeat that sound you made
A thousand times again
And you wake up
At the close.
At the end.

And it’s smearing your heart with muck.
Me, love. Her.

Oh, lighten the Licht,
Sang until it bricht.
Seven fishermen,
and none of them real.
It’s you.
Let me assure you, it’s you.

And so it fades away, slowly vaporize,
Me, love. Me.

JBG, 4th jan 2011