Briefe

Dear Berlin,

You are a soft breeze on a Sunday in September
The way you whisper all those words that keep spinning in my mind
Your grey and concrete buildings all around me they are loaded
With facts that I have learned already from an early age
Even when you are asleep you stick to me like honey 
sweet and sticky on my tongue not a chance I can resist

You know damn’ good that I have tried to wrap my mind over the way
you washed away the guild that stained your innocence for good
In the morning at the daybreak you are the rhythm of my heartbeat
The light attaches to your body ‘round every corner you might go
Your burning presence makes all beauty turn to pale
Past and present become entangled strongly in each other’s arms
Each time I leave you, the Quadriga of victory high upon your gate 
stand silent because it knows the top is only just halfway…

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