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Experience: |
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There is a lady down the hall who paints |
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butterflies and insects |
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and there are little statues in the room, |
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she works with clay |
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and I went in there |
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and sat on the couch and had something to drink |
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Her life stands still |
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She waited for herself |
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She tried to forget |
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What she once was |
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This way was too long |
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She can't find herself |
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And her life changed |
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She found a new desire |
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And could not get enough |
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She says: I'm deranged |
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It's too hard for me |
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The moon danced around her |
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She felt so alive |
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Showed what she could be |
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She flew too high |
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Into empty skies and |
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She layed down into the stars |
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Her life stands still |
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She needed for herself |
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She tried to forget |
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What she once was |
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Then I noticed |
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one of the statues had his back turned to us, |
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he stood there brooding, poor bastard, |
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and I asked the lady |
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what's wrong with him? |
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and she said... |
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I'm deranged |
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It's too much for me |
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Pushed me down |
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It's something in my mind |
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Nobody can heal me |
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I found a new desire |
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And could not get enough |
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She dreamed herself away |
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This life seemed not real to her |
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Made wrong decisions |
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And can't find a way out |
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She ruined herself and |
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Did not see what went wrong |
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This was not meant for her |
