So many symptoms, I made myself believe
that I was going to die
I was right though, because this life not only mortal
but also futile

Death, that's for sure
But when, how
How—soon?
I race against it or surrender even before
it gets me

I have showed the doctor my mole
He thought it's so insignificant that
He laughed
He laughed with his colleague

I have tried to play with kids
when I was one
But I really hated when they started to
grab each other's hat
I still remember, vividly
One time someone put their hands on my back
They put hands on my back

One time my uncle and aunt
drove me home, and told me don't forget
to lock my door
and to open the packages inside
not outside
I got upstairs, locked the door and cried
My parents who gave this "life" to me
have never said anything like that
I cried

I have been feeling much better
since I stopped medicine
It's all good though, science
But the right prescription for me has not appeared
Yet. And according to my self-diagnosis
I'm just different
They got a spectrum and they call it dis-order
But how many people had lived their lives in order
Not so much, I'm afraid
Not so much

What is this life anyway
Do I have a soul
Can I take it off, like take off my coat
I wish death is death
is irreversible unconsciousness
But if Ewige Wiederkunft does exist
I wouldn't regret either

If all just an illusion
Where happens the perception
It's abyss it seems
every direction