Ferry

Since two years, day by day

I am living in the grey.

 

I life on a ship, it’s more like a ferry.

From one coast where you want to marry,

 

but back on the opposite shore,

you don’t want me anymore.

 

So I am sitting in a boat,

over open water I float.

 

Looking over the railing,

waiting where I am sailing.

 

Depending on the wind and the drift,

to see on which coast we will shift.

 

On the right bank I want to strand.

To turn around the ship — to wend,

 

with my bear hands I paddle and row,

to give direction, where I wanna go.

 

On the right cost I want to settle the ferry,

the right one, the one where we marry.

 

But if the drift is wrong,

if it’s too strong,

the ship will just swim along.

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