#German Tumblr posts

  • Wie alles plötzlich aufgeht, wenn du’s nicht provozierst

    Wie frei du plötzlich atmest, wenn du’s nicht kontrollierst

    Wie alles plötzlich Sinn macht, wie alles funktioniert

    Weil du immer dann perfekt bist, wenn du’s gar nicht erst probierst

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  • #german#russian #i don't like the song but i really like having to context switch
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  • “You and I in a little toy shop buy a bag of balloons with the money we’ve got. Set them free at the break of dawn ‘til one by one they were gone. Back at base, bugs in the software flash the message “something’s out there”. Floating in the summer sky, 99 red balloons go by. 99 red balloons floating in the summer sky. Panic bells – it’s red alert. There’s something here from somewhere else. The war machine springs to life, opens up one eager eye focusing it on the sky where 99 red balloons go by. 99 Decision Street, 99 ministers meet to worry, worry, super scurry. Call the troops out in a hurry. This is what we’ve waited for. This is it, boys. This is war. The president is on the line as 99 red balloons go by. 99 knights of the air ride super high-tech jet fighters. Everyone’s a superhero. Everyone’s a Captain Kirk with orders to identify, to clarify and classify. Scramble in the summer sky. 99 red balloons go by. As 99 red balloons go by, 99 dreams I have had, in every one a red balloon. It’s all over and I’m standing pretty in this dust that was a city. If I could find a souvenir just to prove the world was here. And here is a red balloon. I think of you and let it go.”  

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  • Wir bezahlen

    We are paying

    Ich bezahle!

    I am paying!

    Es beginnt

    It is beginning / starting

    Es reicht nicht

    It is not enough

    Sie waschen die Kartoffeln

    They are washing / cleaning the potatoes

    Wir brauchen Eier

    We need eggs

    Ich beginne

    I am beginning / starting

    Beginnt ihr?

    Do you begin?

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  • Midnight. - Kai Havertz


    finally one with kai (sorry @leclerc-stan, ly tho🤍)

    also this is kinda weird and not that typical.. so if you’ve read this please please please tell me what you think!!! 🤍

    gif = 🖤


    Originally posted by mariogoetze

    I don’t think anything of what I’ve ever done in my life made sense. I wasn’t like the other kids in kindergarten, or the ones in elementary school or at high school. And when I went into college I thought maybe I could finally meet people who were different as well and who were normal enough to be my friends. Not the I-see-you-5-days-a-week-and-that’s-why-we-are-friends friends. The real friends. The ones out of books and movies that would call you up at night time and tell you that they’re bored only to pick you up 5 minutes later and drive in an old car through the night. Sit at mc donald’s together until the sun rose up behind the big dirty windows. Eating french fries with mc sundae and caramel sauce and forgetting about the troubles of the world. The friends who always had your back no matter the situation.

    Fun fact. College wasn’t like this. Life wasn’t like this.

    I went through the first few months of college alone. Well. Not really alone. But alone. My ‘friends’ were nice. We went to parties together and drank away one of my friends heartbreak nearly every day of the week. We went to a take away restaurant down the street and ordered a party sized pizza for 3. It wasn’t the movie type or the book type of friendship. And sometimes I wondered whether I could call it friendship. If those people were really my friends. I was sure enough that no one would write books about us. And no one would like to see our no make up, no bra and sweatpants look on a movie screen.

    I didn’t get the calls up at night, didn’t get to drive around with anyone, didn’t get the ice cream or the french fries. And it wasn’t rarely that I got out of the apartment I shared with another girl and boy who studied something with medicine, and went to my car on my own. I drove through the town that was small enough to be a fifth of what my home was, to what I was used to. I often found myself driving around for hours. With no certain destination on my mind but somehow always ending up at the same place. I always ended up home. It was a 45 minute car ride but somehow the time seemed to go by in a blink. It wasn’t the house I grew up in that I visited but a place that seemed way more special to me than anything else ever could. I sat outside on my car, the lights of the street giving me enough light to scribble in my notebook.

    It was only that one night that I suddenly heard a noise and a flash turned on. I nearly jumped and I don’t think I’ve ever felt as afraid as I did then and there. My eyes went wide and my heart rate must have been the double of what it usually is. A guy around my age or maybe older than me turned up and walked over to me. He most likely would’ve looked nice if i would’ve met him on the street by day light. But now, in the middle of the night, he couldn’t have looked more scary to me. He wore a hoodie and a cap was placed on his head, I couldn’t make out any of his hair nor much of his face as he walked closer. But he turned his face a little as he stopped in track and then looked up. Our eyes locked and I slowly closed my mouth again, pressing my lips together and furrowing my eyebrows together as I watched him. He still held his camera in one hand. And then he started wearing that stupid smile on his face that somehow- got me even more mad and confused.

    “Sorry,” he speaks up and I furrow my eyebrows together just a bit more.

    “Sorry?” I repeat, pulling on my bottom lip.

    “For interrupting,” he replies. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your writing. I’ve seen you here a few times at night and just needed to take a picture to save it for another time.”

    “You’ve seen me here before?” I ask, irritated.

    He nods quickly. “I live in that house,” he tells me, pointing on the house behind me.

    “And why couldn’t you take a picture out of your house from me?” I ask.

    “The view here is better,” he shrugs. “Besides maybe I wanted to get to know the girl behind the writing.”

    “Why a picture anyway?” I ask instead and a smile crawls back on his lips.

    His lips move into this weird form that definitely didn’t look like most smiles did. He didn’t look all that perfect. He looked real.

    “You’re not some weird pervert stalker.. are you?” I mumble and he chuckles as he shakes his head.

    “I’m collecting pictures,” he replies. “I take a picture of all different types of people and collect them.”

    “Can I see mine?” I ask and he grins.

    “I have a deal for you,” he starts. “You’ll show me what you’re writing and I’ll let you see the photo.”

    “What? No!” I reply. “I could be writing my journal and I wouldn’t let a stranger read that.”

    “You don’t write journals,” he says. “Not out here anyways.”

    “How would you know?” I ask, furrowing my brows together.

    “You don’t seem like the girl to do that type of stuff,” he replies.

    “I’m not,” I reply with a nod.

    “Great! So let me read something,” he says and I sigh out.

    “It’s personal,” I say as he stepped a step closer to me and my car.

    “That’s a good way in getting to know you,” he smiles and I sigh again.

    “Stories or poems?” he asks and I pulled on my bottom lip again.

    It’s almost scary of how easy the conversation goes with him. Of how different the topic was to conversatios I’ve had with many other people. Of how weirdly he seemed to have the exactly right expression of me.

    “Poems,” I reply and his eyes light up as he nods.

    I’m sure the street light only made them look half as pretty as they really are.

    “Let me read your least favorite one then,” he insists.

    “Why my east favorite one?” I ask, confused.

    “Because I’m sure it’s better than what you think it is,” he replies.

    I don’t know why I open my notebook again and why I turn to a page that is not even anymore. It’s uneven, it’s dirty and you could still see tear stains on it if you look closely. It’s probably the dirtiest and most used page out of all of the notebook but it was also the one that held the most memories to it. I handed him the notebook as he stood close enough now. I bit down on my bottom lip as I watched him. Watched his eyes scan over the words. Read every word, every line. Watched his fingers hold the red notebook in his large hands. I felt like I gave him a part of me with this. Like I was giving myself to him with this.

    It’s okay if I’m not the girl of your dreams or the one you dance with at prom.

    I just want to be the girl you think about 20 years from now, while you’re staring at your morning coffee, wishing that you hadn’t poured so much milk in because now it’s too creamy to resemble my dark brown eyes.

    His eyes look up once he’s finished and lock with mine and I’m sure I held my breathe for a moment as I wait for a reaction to him.

    “I think this is your best one,” he says with a certain nod and I furrow my brows together once more.

    “What?” I ask, “but you’ve never even read my other ones. You can’t say that.”

    “I don’t need to,” he shrugs. “This one comes from your heart. As most or all your others do, but you’ve felt that one. That’s what’s making this your best.”

    I stay quiet for a moment and feel a weird feeling inside my stomach. Truth was, the stranger was absolutely, completely right with everything he said and that scared the shit out of me. Because, for the first time in my life, I felt understood.

    “Now it’s my turn,” I speak up, to change the topic.

    He grinned again, and this time it made me less annoyed. But still annoyed.

    “It’s actually late, Isabelle,” he says, as he turns my notebook which was still in his hands around to the cover, where my name was scribbled chaotically in the right corner. “I think I’ll head to bed.”

    “What?” I ask confused and mad once again. “You promised me to show me my picture after you’ve read something from me. I showed you one. Now it’s your turn.”

    “I told you I’d show it to you,” he agrees nodding. “But I never said when and until then, I hope you have a good night.”

    He hands me the notebook and I’m perplex as I sit still and watch him turn around and walk away further away from me. It takes me a while until I get up and get off my car before getting inside again. I’m taken back for a moment, or rather, the whole car ride back to the apartment. And I lay in my bed for another hour. As it was time for the sun to rise, I finally found myself falling asleep.

    And I slept in through two of my morning classes and woke up mid day. Most of my days were like this and I wasn’t really surprised either to see a few messages of my friends asking me when I decided to show up. I rolled my eyes and then I reply. I get ready and then I’m at university before I know it. Back with my friends.

    I feel kind of nervous as I park my car that night. It’s dark and quiet as it usually is when I open the car door and get outside. I get on my car once again and then I take my notebook out once again and I try not to think about the stranger watching me. I go back to the page, back to the lines I’ve let him read and wonder what he thought of me now. I read over them again and think back to a time in my life when I wrote those lines. When I felt them so fresh and real. It’s different now but I still felt them, more than I expected. Every time I went through my old writing, I purposely skip that page. For that exact feeling, tears, welling up in my eyes, getting my view blurry and then spilling out of my eye.

    There’s another click another flashlight and my eyes went wide again but not as wide as the night before. As the stranger stepped closer. A small smile was on his lips as he stopped by my car.

    “Good evening Isabel,” he says as he hands me a tissue.

    “Are you okay?” he asks carefully and I sigh as I look down.

    “You know, this is your fault,” I say as I slowly look up to meet his eyes.

    “It’s not my words. And I didn’t make you write them,” he argues and I sigh as I nod. He was right.

    “I’m not saying I don’t wanna be written about,” he shrugs.

    “You want me to write about you?” I ask, eyes a bit wider. That wasn’t something i could’ve thought of.

    “Yeah, why not?” he asks.

    “Because i don’t even know your name?” i say.

    “I’ll tell you my name if you continue writing,” he says and I roll my eyes.

    “I’m not giving into your deals one more time,” I say and he laughs out.

    “That’s fair,” he smiles as he nods. “I’m Kai, Isabelle. And now continue writing.”

    I hold in for a moment more as I think of his name and how it only seemed to complete my picture of him more. And then I get back to writing, back to only me, the paper and pen and forgetting about everything else. About him. And then it’s another night over.

    And the next, I’m even more nervous as I sit on my car and read over the words I’ve written the night before and I giggle a bit as the next photo is taken. As I make space for him beside me and he watches me as I take the pen and write a new one. About this exact moment.

    And the next, I’m not reading one and he’s not flashing me with a picture taken because he doesn’t show up. There’s no sight of him even though I sit there for an hour or two. And there’s so much hope in me but he’s not here. And i feel disappointed even though I have no reason to.

    And the next day I don’t show up because I’m drinking with my friends again but I still think of him and his eyes. Even while I’m drunk, even when I fall asleep.

    And the day after I decide to show up another time. I start writing on a poem and I don’t think of him because this was my place before it was his. And it was my place not ours. And I get flashed again and I’m half annoyed as he walks over with a grin on his lips, even though I have no reason to. And he sits beside me and takes out his ipod and gives me the other one of his headphones and he plays music as we lean back and look into the stars.

    And it’s a few days later that I wait for him on my car. He’s not taking a picture of me as he hops on the car beside me. We talk about the moon and the stars and my dreams and my wish for a tattoo, astrology and star signs. About beliefs and fears and how good cold pizza tastes. And we sat on my car for hours, laughing, talking and even more talking. So that we saw the light around us getting lighter and the sun slowly rising.

    & i swear in that moment. i thought we had forever.

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  • 25|05|2020

    Week 9 of My 2020 Quarantine Challenge!

    ✨ Mon  What is your native language?

    my native language is English! i was born in the UK and both my parents are native English speakers

    also how pretty are these flowers that my dad got for our garden!

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  • You were born because you are going to be important to someone -🌧🖤

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  • Consider buying me a coffee? -> here

    ¿considera invitarme un café? -> aquí

    considéra m'acheter un café? -> ici

    willst du mir einen Kaffee kaufen? -> hier

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  • ORI AND THE WILL OF THE WISPS #021 - Itsy Bitsy Spider 🦉 Let’s Play 🎮🔴 Sieh dir mein Neues Video an! 😃👍🏻

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  • Roses by Theude Grönland (German, 1817–1876)

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  • ‪you guys ever watch your favourite movies dubbed in your target language and pretend it counts as studying? …no? just me????

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  • Wir kennen die Zeitung

    We know the newspaper

    Er schwimmt

    He is swimming

    Ich bringe Erdbeeren und Wein

    I am bringing / delivering strawberries and wine

    Wir fahren

    We drive / ride / travel

    Du schwimmst

    You are swimming

    Du denkst

    You think

    Sie rennt

    She is running

    Du rennst

    You run

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  • [GER] GEARS 5 #Teststream #Noobstream #relax 🎮🔴 Sieh dir mein Neues Video an! 😃👍🏻

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  • Mahuliena, zlatá panna / Mahuliena the Golden Maid (1987) dir. by Miloslav Luther.

    #Lara Lamberti #Mahuliena zlatá panna #Mahuliena the Golden Maid #Der treue Johannes #Miloslav Luther#Czechoslovak#Slovak#German#Czechoslovak Cinema#Slovak Cinema #Czechoslovak Fairy Tale #Slovak Fairy Tale #Fairy Tale#My Screenshots
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  • One day in German class, Malt-o-meal was telling us German words for your SO - translations of honey, bunny, etc. - and I asked “what’s the word for nerd?” And he said to my dismay, “nerd.” Like it didn’t have a translation, not like he was calling me a nerd. It was disappointing.

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  • Does anyone here speak German?

    I need help translating a specific sentence from a wikipedia article but I don’t trust google translate. I’d love you forever if you could help! 🖤🖤🖤

    #please #I'm researching my ancestry & i'm half german #but i don't speak the language #help#german
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  • Am Friedhof der Träume Aller angelangt

    Dauert es nicht mehr lang

    Bis ich mir die Frage stelle

    Warum zur Hölle

    Überwand ich diese Schwelle?

    Nur um es hier her zu schaffen?

    Klar, ich wollte Valentina was beschaffen

    Aber wieso habe ich überhaupt eingewilligt?

    Ist sie mir denn so wichtig?

    Offensichtlich ja

    Ich kenn sie doch nur seit einem Jahr

    Gefühle, kann man sich wohl nicht aussuchen

    Egal ob es fantastische Freude oder brutales Bluten

    Ist, und is egal ob sie oder du es bist

    Die es dich fühlen lässt,

    Das stelle ich nicht zum ersten Mal fest

    Trotzdem geben mir Gefühle oft genug den Rest

    Ohne dass eine neue Erkenntnis

    Es aus dem Gefängnis

    Des Unterbewusstseins hätte schaffen können

    Ach, würde mein Leben mir das nur gönnen

    Wie dem auch sei

    Ich will nicht so tun als würde ich lei-

    den, denn mein Leben gibt mir viel zum Freuen

    Selbst ein paar Dinge, die es zu bereuen

    gilt, treiben mich nicht in Trübsal

    Ich üb mal, theoretisch, doch meist praktisch

    Halte so mein Abenteuer knackfrisch

    Drastisch reiße ich mich aus dem Selbstgespräch

    Bevor ich mich in den Boden fräß

    Die alphabetisch geordnete Ruhestätte

    Zeigt sich mir in einer Facette

    Die ist tragisch schön, inspirierend

    Und neuronal stimulierend

    Vom Boden angezogen fließen Nebelschwaden

    In sich abwechselnden edlen Farben

    Von den Hügeln im Süden

    In den vermeintlichen Norden

    Zu den alten Sorgen

    Ob sich das Konzept Himmelsrichtung hält

    Darum ists hier schlecht gestellt

    Denn der Kompass am Schlüsselbund

    In meiner Hosentasche

    Dreht rund wie

    Eine Vierzehnjährige die heimlich ihre erste Dose schaffte

    Bei mir führe ich einen Briefumschlag

    Zusammen mit Valentinas Auftrag

    Dessen Inhalt erst am Grabe zu lesen

    Diszipliniert versuche ich es erst gar nicht mit Thesen

    Mit jedem ach so kleinen Schritt

    Schaffe ich einen feinen Schnitt

    Durch den bunten Dunst

    Der bietet mir die Möglichkeit  Kunst

    In den Boden zu gehen, die besteht

    Denn die Zeit vergeht

    Hier nur gestaucht

    Ich frage mich wann das normale wieder auftaucht

    Wahrscheinlich erst wenn ich diesen Ort verlasse

    Und in unserer Welt wieder Fuß fasse

    Grab für Grab lasse ich hinter mir

    Mit Disziplin und Manier

    Manövrier ich vorbei am Voyeurismus

    Und behalte den Rhythmus

    Zur Melodie in meinem Kopf bei

    Setze Schritt für Schritt so viel Energie frei

    Dass der Stein unter mir ein Pflaster braucht

    Ein Hauch von Hunger okkupiert meinen Bauch

    Denn ich dachte nie an Proviant

    Offensichtlich habe ich die Dauer der Reise verkannt

    Liebe macht einen hungrig

    Plötzlich dreht sich eine Gedanke um mich

    Liebe, wieso fasel ich davon

    Macht mich der Hunger so benomm‘n

    Geleitet von einer lauen Brise

    Entdecke ich auf einer blauen Wiese

    Den einzigen Obstbaum weit und breit

    Die Früchte sind eng aneinander gereiht

    Sie haben die Form einer Birne, die Farbe einer Pflaume

    Und heben schon beim ersten Bissen meine Laune

    Genüsslich verspeise ich die liebliche Frucht

    Die einen Bruch in meiner Moral verhindert

    Und außerdem den Drang zur Flucht lindert

    Zur Sicherheit pack ich mir noch eine Frucht ein

    Um mich dann wieder auf die Bei-

    ne zu machen, denn ich habe was zu schaffen

    Eine überraschend lange Zeit vergeht

    Ohne dass etwas meine Aufmerksamkeit erregt

    Bis ich plötzlich vor dem Weg

    Zu meinem Buchstaben steh

    Und sich in meinem Kopf mehrere Sze-

    nen abspielen, in denen ich

    Es aus Angst nich

    Übers Herz bring

    Über meinen Schatten zu springn

    Um neugierig herauszufinden

    Welche Träume ich nie zünden

    ließ, und sie wie in einem Verlies

    Allmählich verrotten habe lassen

    Wird mir das Ergebnis passen?

    Oder ist es ein riesiger Ballast?

    Ich entscheide mich für eine weitere Rast

    Denn der Konflikt hat so viel Macht

    Dass das mein Kopf erst mal nicht mitmacht

    Das an dieser stelle hohe Gras ist sanft und bequem

    Die Halme legen sich auf meine Stirn wie ein Diadem

    Durch all die Gemütlichkeit

    Überkommt mich die Müdigkeit

    So träume ich im Friedhof der Träume

    Doch es zeigen sich mir nur leere Räume

    Dadurch leicht verängstigt, wach ich auf

    Trotzdem nehme ich meinen Mut zusammen und lauf

    Der Boden aus Stein lässt sich ablösen

    Von Kies in verschiedenen Größen

    Das hilft beim Laufen zwar kaum

    Aber jetzt würd ich selbst auf jeden Baum,

    Klettern oder einen lebenden Traum zerschmettern

    Nach nicht klarer Zeit

    War es endlich so weit

    Und mindestens fünf Emotionen gleichzeitig

    Setzten sich nonchalant und breitbeinig

    In mein überfordertes Gehirn

    Mir rennt der Schweiß von er Stirn

    Jahre der Verdrängung waren unnötig

    Die Erinnerungen werden aufmüpfig

    Flüchten aus dem Zwangsexil

    Und das trotz des Andrangs agil

    Es überkommt mich, ich falle auf die Knie

    So eine Sinnesflut spürte ich nie

    Das ist das volle Gegenteil von Apathie

    Zittrig greife ich den kalten Marmorstein

    Ich werde nie ein Amor sein

    Erst recht ein Experte für Wein

    Langsam streiche ich über die eingravierten Lettern

    Als plötzlich aus dem Nichts meine Retter-

    in, in rot, erscheint

    Kārta ists, die es gut mit mir meint

    Sie gibt mir einen sanften Kuss auf die Stirn

    Und in mir öffnet sich wieder der Regenschirm

    Welcher mich vor diesem Albtraum schützt

    Da er sich auf dem Wissen stützt

    Dass niemand meine Zukunft diktiert

    Mit einem Mal ist die Göttin ausradiert

    Zügig wische ich mir Tränen und Schweiß von den Wangen

    Es dauerte lange zu dieser Erkenntnis zu gelangen

    Der Marmorstein wird spröde

    Toll aber kurz, war seine Rolle als Tragöde

    Eilig bewege ich mich auf dem Zentralweg

    Meter für Meter ist ein neues Grab schräg

    Und der Ausgang sieht aus wie zerlegt

    Das, und der schnell fließende Wechsel von dunkel und hell

    Interpretiere ich als einen Appell

    Der mich darauf hinweist, dass wenig Zeit bleibt

    Weit weg bin ich nicht mehr vom V

    Während ich in die Landschaft schau

    Erspäh ich ein tiefes Loch im Boden

    Meine Prioritäten haben sich nicht verschoben

    So entscheide ich mich dazu es zu ignorieren

    Doch das unerwartete Auftauchen eines Neues ist nicht zu kaschieren

    Ein kontrollierender Blick hinter mir verrät

    Für Neugier ist es nun zu spät

    Der Friedhof zerfällt in die Leere

    Bevor es mir eine Lehre wird

    Und neben den Träumen mein Geist hier irrt

    Möchte ich mein Ziel erreichen

    Ohne irgendwelche Leichen

    Am Grab ihrer Träume angekommen

    Öffne ich vom schnellen Rennen ganz benommen

    Den faszinierend verzierten Briefumschlag

    Schon beim ersten Absatz erkenn ich dann

    Es lag ihr nie daran

    Dass ich ihr einen Traum wieder hole

    Als ich den Text wiederhole

    Ergibt sich mir ihre wahre Absicht

    Dass mein Geist selbst ausbricht

    Aus der Loge im Puppentheater der Nostalgie

    Und mit Buch und Stift selber Regie

    führt, für ein Stück dass mich in Zukunft berührt

    Zu dieser Einsicht gesegelt, versinke ich in ein dunkles Weiß

    Ich reiß meine Augen auf und weiß

    Nicht wo ich mich befinde

    Hier gibt gibt es nur Pastellfarben und Winde

    Welche die Farben durch den Kosmos tragen

    Lautstark versuch ich mich zu beklagen

    Doch werde erschlagen als ich realisiere

    Egal wie stark ich es forciere

    Kein Ton verlässt meinen Hals

    Vermeintlich lauthals versuch ich es abermals

    Wie komme ich aus diesem Delirium

    Zu zumindest ein Stück Elysium

    Oder auch nur Realität

    Der einsetzende Stress macht dass mein Magen sich umdreht

    Kurz vor verlassen meines Körpers

    Höre ich ich wieder Wörter

    Ich habe einen neuen Ort erreicht

    Die Stirn voll Schweiß, das Gesicht eher bleich

    Ich bin aufgewacht und habe Fieber

    Schützend wacht über mich im Raum, Valentina  

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