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Harm Wülf
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Old Fur
Maybe I'll start a new religion, maybe I'll just shave my head; bind my spirit together with string, speak only of the end of days. There will be no second comings. There will be no baptism by the lake. I've eked out crestfallen and devoid, so I know that I'll see my day. I found wisdom in the weeping willows as the wind makes the bodies sway; together we burned in the foxhole, smelling of sulfur and pine. The grinding axe disenchants every traitor that it finds; it seemed so painless for you. Now you're shaking like jars of flies; we'll get just what we paid for. The birch cracks across our backs and waists, the tempest is blowing; love has been displaced. The pact that we made was blood sworn, we must all pay a heavy price, and I will not rest while you look down upon me; be sure to guard your head.
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