Lyrics WIR WERDEN (god11)

 

A

Wir werden.
Wir werden da stehen: ekstatisch, im stumpfen Zustand, erstarrt.
Wir werden.
Wir werden da stehen: erstickend an eigenen durchsichtigen Worten.

Wir werden.
Wir werden die Nacht schlucken, den Schatten abgeben und werden nie beim
Weinen erwischt.

Wir werden.
Wir werden die leeren Räume mit Bedauern füllen, die Einsamkeit ausbluten und
werden von den leisen Absichten gestillt.

Wir werden.
Wir werden schlafen, das Dasein und Weg Sein auflösen, die Ahnung warten lassen und werden von fallendem Schnee gedämpft.

Wir werden.
Wir werden andere Menschen.


We will.
We will stand there: ecstatic, in a state of dullness, frozen.

We will.
We will stand there: suffocating on our own transparent words.

We will.
We will swallow the night, will give away the shadow and will never be caught crying.

We will.
We will fill the empty rooms with regret, will bleed out the loneliness and we will be fed by our quiet intentions.

We will.
We will sleep, we will dissolve there-being and the being gone, will leave the premonition waiting and we’ll be hushed by the falling snow.

We will.
We will become other people.

B

(ona)

in vendar: še ena nespeča noč, gledam jo kako mi drži oči na široko odprte, ko objemam blazino za lažni občutek dvojine in recitiram naglas listo nepredvidljivih dogodkov v preteklih letih, naglas, da ubežim tišini, ki mi jo noč polaga na poti v nemiren spanec. Besede, izsušene besede. Nikogar ni, komur želijo pripadati. Ni konca, samo zapuščanja so. Svet je vse kar pada, iz tresočih rok. Tukaj sem, skrčeno ležim, kot da bi mi nekdo zaril globoko nož v trebuh in poslušam kri, kako teče nesmiselno. Z razlogom konzumiram vonj po žalosti. Misli tresejo zrak. Jutranji žarometi avtomobilov vlečejo senco za seboj po stenah sobe, kot dolgo tančico v dvomu pred oltar. Odtujena od tujih želja. Moram danes resnično vstati? Kako naj začnem dan, če me pa noč še vedno duši.

(on)

Prosim, pusti luči prižgane, ko odideš. Ne maram teme. Tema rodi besede, trde in otrple, izsušene besede, ki se drobijo na ustnicah. Nikogar ni, komur želijo pripadati. Utrujen od tujih želja. Ni konca. Svet je vse kar pada in se nikogar ne dotakne, svet je ukročena žival. Majhna zmaga ga je naredila lačnega, ukročen in oblečen v nesmisle. Ulica bivajoče odvratnosti. Kdo koga zlorablja? Kdo pretirava? Kdo se pretvarja? Noč se razliva po sobi kot bencin. Tiho in grozeče. V mislih recitiram listo možnosti odpovedanja, omamljen od vonja po pijani osamljenosti. Tišino prerežejo prvi klici ptic z dvorišča. Dobro jutro žalostna nedelja si rečem in potem zaspim.

(she)

and yet: another night that doesn’t sleep. I watch it holding my eyes wide open, when I’m clutching the pillow for a false feeling of intimate togetherness, and out loud I’m reciting the list of unforeseen events of the past years, out loud, so that I can escape the silence laid by the night for me on the path towards an uneasy sleep. Words, dried up words. There is no one to whom they wish to belong. There is no end, there are only abandonments. The world is all that is falling from trembling hands. Here I am, lying folded, as if someone had thrust a knife deep into my belly, and I’m listening to my blood flowing senselessly. I’m consuming the scent of sadness with a reason. Thoughts are shaking the air. The morning, car headlights are dragging a shadow behind them along the walls of the room, as if they were dragging a long veil in front of the altar, in doubt. I’m estranged from other people’s thoughts. Do I really have to get up today? How can I start the day if the night is still smothering me?

(he)

Please, don’t switch off the lights on when you go. I don’t like the darkness. Darkness brings forth words, hard and numb, dry words, crumbling on the lips. There is no one to whom they wish to belong. I’m tired of other people’s thoughts. There is no end. The world is all that is falling, touching no one.

The world is a tamed animal. A small victory has made it hungry, it is domesticated and clothed with absurdities. A street of existing repulsiveness. Who’s abusing whom? Who’s exaggerating? Who’s pretending? The night is spilling across the room like gasoline, silently and menacingly. In my thoughts, I’m reciting the list of possibilities for failing, dazed by the scent of drunken loneliness. The silence is cut by the first cries of birds in the courtyard. Good morning gloomy Sunday, I say to myself and then I fall asleep.