The old radio

I was a child searching for a voice in an old radio.

Prisonner of a city walled in by freedom .

Believing that only  cartoons held the truth.

 Popeye the good  sailor 

  vs / The big bad  wolf ...

  Sinners,dreamers and misfits 

aboard an imaginary skiff ...

 That's how we used to tell you 

a story where the clouds 

always came from  the east .

 I believe in the forecast .

The messiah will descend 

from a cloned star  ! 

 For the first time I am in love 

with a voice that don't spit

a war game ...

 I drown in the blue of a bird's gaze

like an angel on the rooftops ...

 Neither an eagle nor a dove .

 Simply a woman made of soul and desire.

  I was no longer a child but I would

never grow up ...

 The sparrow built its nest a long time ago.

  It rains on the recollection of an empty prison.

I loved that bar in Spandau  where  in the 

beer and smoke I replayed that chess game

with stefan Brecht and  Berthold  Zweig ,

listening to a tube by the comedian harmonists

 or Marlene  broken tune ...

and the loser exclaiming : 

 '' Ich bin ein Berliner ! '' 

It has been raining for so long  here

that it became an habbit for lovers...

 This damn old radio has gone silent.

I have no children  asking 

about  yesterday ,

 and the stones have rolled ,

revealing the secret of the crypt...

There's sunshine over Amsterdam

says the meteo !

I'd like to be there .

Dream on a canal flowing towards the sea

and even further ...

Shipwrewrecked on an ocean 

that calls me to this liberty 

promised by an old radio...