if you were you,
the one I know...

how can I ever know
that you are him

the one that I know
and knows me

the way I´ve
so intimately
been - with no one else
like with him?

how can you pretend
to know me
if you may not be

exactly him?

see, he is a poet
and a dreamer
he writes rough pictures
of the wind in the old plains

He speaks me of the rocks
and the time that's craved on them


sometimes he draws (me?)
coloured landscapes
or grey portraits of him
and sometimes
he is bright and
others he is just a shape

I could never love
a stranger, as a stranger
can not love me

if you are him
please get in, my mind
belongs to you

if you are not,
I can only pray
you might soon be free

so give me the sign
show me the scar
I'll open right away
the inner voice of my (best) smile