It were for what we seemed
Our golden ages together
In which we unleashed time
as slaves of love, tightly bound
by winged words freely frolicking
along sharing the two paths of life
the time when we as angels
still flew so all Jesus Lord high
that we only with the Song of Songs
of our hubris on our lips
tempted fate by the barricades of heaven
and hell between us and
storming and breaking them down
We tenderly shattered the days
And fluttering like a bee by the grace of God
Eating miles of butter horny desire
as if they were kilo bangers turned man-made
full of tenderness, we took all the time
to bathe ourselves in everything of value
without making the slightest mistake, completely defenceless
because the black beads of all our nights
were still rosaries to be prayed
that unforgettable pastime
with which we made love without restraint
because the realization did not want to ripen
that we and the night itself were still far too young
and now the present time
that we only know without a word of explanation
and forgive simply by forgotten
that in the pasture of our desire after all,
we were not for each other, the true lambs
in the slaughterhouse of live
the golden ages together in what we were
made us no more than credulous lies
for the soap bubbles of a future,
nobody wants to share
in sickness of hell
Ludo