Unheard Behaviour/Fever of the Lost Prisoner

Under the divine confusion of the light

Night will become day

Out of the darkness into clarity

Now I don’t need your lamps anymore.

I wrote stars for the most purely criminal

And I behave myself like I never did

Before, in unheard German

And his story and fever were mine.

It takes neon love to beg a son to suffer

Out of the fever of the lost prisoners

I am the only one who can compose myself

Without leaning I compose myself.

I come up with my ultimate identity

Empty it surrounds me once again

And it fills my head with ideas

Without explanation what they are.

By myself I will collect the stones

Of the night-sunken prisoners of doubt

Being destroyed by their fear

To be worse than destruction.

With a poem nailed on my chest

I asked no one to sell me the bright wings

I own since ever before.