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And now the noise has stopped at once,
he pays the check, she waits outside.
They walk across the bridge,
they share a cigarrette.
Nothing is changed
but the circus is gone,
circus is gone,
circus is gone.
Tigers cannot wait forever,
circus is gone, stupid me,
thought I've come to know you better,
off there goes my raincoat,
words we cannot say at the end of november,
such is the way.
Hotel at night, they take a bath,
coming from the hallway this noise again
like liquid steel.
-The scar-, he says, -is fading so fast,
you're made of sand, like dunes you grow at night-.
Down the street we hear the Kudamm bells
Kudamm bells, Kudamm bells.
Hope I'll die in a foreign land
with foreign friends, foreign friends.
A bunch of daises in my hands
lost among the soldiers,
follow the parade,
every song gets forgotten,
such is the way.
Hair, skin, a glass of gin,
thighs, neck, some kind of wreck,
zipper, stitches, a floor that screeches,
close up of her pupil, now, a different room,
different room, different room,
different voice.
Real birds outside the window,
different moon, piping noise,
not so bad as East Berlin goes,
hands are on the table,
wounds get washed away,
and as long as we want it
such is the way.
Christina Rosenvinge
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And now the noise has stopped at once,
he pays the check, she waits outside.
They walk across the bridge,
they share a cigarrette.
Nothing is changed
but the circus is gone,
circus is gone,
circus is gone.
Tigers cannot wait forever,
circus is gone, stupid me,
thought I've come to know you better,
off there goes my raincoat,
words we cannot say at the end of november,
such is the way.
Hotel at night, they take a bath,
coming from the hallway this noise again
like liquid steel.
-The scar-, he says, -is fading so fast,
you're made of sand, like dunes you grow at night-.
Down the street we hear the Kudamm bells
Kudamm bells, Kudamm bells.
Hope I'll die in a foreign land
with foreign friends, foreign friends.
A bunch of daises in my hands
lost among the soldiers,
follow the parade,
every song gets forgotten,
such is the way.
Hair, skin, a glass of gin,
thighs, neck, some kind of wreck,
zipper, stitches, a floor that screeches,
close up of her pupil, now, a different room,
different room, different room,
different voice.
Real birds outside the window,
different moon, piping noise,
not so bad as East Berlin goes,
hands are on the table,
wounds get washed away,
and as long as we want it
such is the way.
