Storyteller

I met a lady who wanted to go to the Paradise, where she belonged.
She claimed to be a young gorgeous German girl and an heir to the throne,
but they had turned her into a filthy Gypsy, she said.

I met a man who wanted to blow his own head off
'cause he didn't have blue eyes, blonde hair and wasn't a fit young man,
and 'cause he wasn't allowed to go home and wash his underpants.

I met a girl who claimed to be a hundred years old,
She told me many times that I was an Eskimo.
She claimed she was a serial killer in her previous life in the 1940's.
She laughed and said that's why she was being punished.
Then she laughed again and told me that she sees her dead grandma in a wheel chair.
And she shouted out that alive, her grandma had no wheel chair.

I met a girl who were honest, stained and beautiful.
Angry and righteous, for the pain she had been put through.
Determined to change the world, through politics and the rights.
I know it debouches into nothing, but she does it for the passion of the night.
She fights with everything and everyone, just like me.
We speak of how humanity has lost it's right to live, put 'em out in the ashtray!
Together we may wander and perish, but in separate ways.
But for the same cause and reason.

I met a young girl, who never uttered a word to me.
I think she may have been frightened.
I tend to uncap peoples calm quiet li(e)ves.
With my black clothes, ripped jeans and my dead stare.
I gave her a smile and she returned it to me.
For this I am grateful, for this I am glad.
She will grow up and I wonder how she will look at the world.
Will she remember that dark, grave and obscure man she met at the hospital,
many, many years ago?
I hardly think so. I tend to slip out of peoples minds as much as I engrave them.
'Cause just like everything else I debouch into nothing.