He’s still sitting at the counter when the waiter dimmed the light

and in the room’s warm twilight his eyes are shining bright

they look beyond the rim of an emptied glass of wine

not seeing what they long to see in the foggy realm of time.


When shall we friends meet again,

in thunder, lightning, or in rain?


The pub is closed, the guests are gone

and he’s still longing for another one

to kill farewell’s taste below his tongue

- not bitter, not sweet. Just saying: “They are gone.”


And it’s all over now

baby blue….


With heavy steps he stumbles to the door

scratching with his trainers over all too sticky floor.

The last embrace’s lying on his heart

too many would-haves in his mind are stopping each new start.



Nothing is more bitter-sweet than to say good-bye

when all the songs are sung and the glasses remain dry.


3 Kommentare 23.1.09 00:40, kommentieren