what is really wrong with me?
desecrating my will won't help me stand over my own two feet.
i'll plead for my innocence, with one hand on my chest,
the other sticking up the finger.
my life was always all about fighting around as a good old swimmer.
testifying against all odds, making probable meanness not that smart,
pointing out the guilty with a gun pressed against my forearm.
it seems nothing is even a bit like what it should be,
and what it seems... well, it ain't even a clue of what it could be,
and well! i guess blind and deaf suits them very well,
but when it comes the day, for you to really step out of your cave,
scream out loud, just like they say, you won't do it, will ya?
maybe joking around is really your tease in this forsaken land.
"welcome to the cruel world" you get back at me,
"welcome to your grave", i'll then hapily realease it,
saving you something for your last meal, clowning around,
making you my big wheel, crossing words, gambling ducks, flying heels...
all for the sake of the one who never had the balls to call out for his thrill.
"by joking about death" you then might speak, "you ain't far from your own disease",
i'll tell you then what i heard from one sad father with an iraq dead boy in his arms
"death comes only to those who fear", i fear nothing, therefore, i'm free.
you may come and question me, you may squeeze me tight.
find me new ways to hold my legs tight,
press my ears till they bleed like a waterfall,
say names about my mother or even press me against the wall,
i won't mind.
all i need from you is whatever you can't give me.
and now i know for sure the names of those
who i shall not believe in.
