paint me a crying eye orders the white demon
it is not necessary said I
can’t you see the seagulls flying at a distance
I can hear them cry
I can hear
another blue train passing by

because of too many sleepless nights
I am now buried beneath an old oak’s roots
they founded a city upon my eyelids
I am no more able to see over the walls and
I am tired all over

when my last teardrops will disappear
only blackbirds will be left here
shading my heart
on the Eastern wall another child will touch me
with the palm of his hand
even God doesn't cry
he’ll speak
together with the bluebells swaying in the wind