Straight ahead or forwards

Where do we have to go, where do we have to go – straight ahead or forwards?
Where do we have to go, where do we have to go – straight ahead or forwards?

I sewed directions under my skin. 
She's lost, she's lost – or can I just not read her?
I'm running forwards and backwards in this cardboard box;
I don't know the way out -  how did I get in here?

I wanna get out of here, I wanna get out of here, but I cannot do it alone.
I wanna get out of here, I wanna get out of here, but I cannot do it alone.

In my stomach, there's a hole, but I devour the hunger.
I buy myself candy, sucking the paper
–	I have thrown away the rest of it 'cause I haven't seen it.
I'm scared of the dark and close my eyes.
I'm scared of the dark and stay standing in it.

It hurts, it hurts and I try to forget it.
It hurts so bad, it hurts so bad and I try to forget myself.

I understand what's happening but it's not that easy.
I wanna get out of here, I wanna get out of here, but I can't do it alone.
What I'm looking for and what I need is not the same.

Which ground bogs my steps? Sometimes I cannot trust myself – Where do my steps get stuck?
Which ground bogs my steps? Sometimes I cannot trust myself – Where do my steps get stuck?

I wanna get out of here.

Rainfall of needles

Looking for the life in his image,
in the paleness of color photos,
in the newspaper, on the tube and on the screen,
but not, but not in here.
Cause here it lies in ruins.:
eight hours of work, eight hours of swallowing, working.
An empty pain in the body, organized boredom,
the heart is beating.

This is not life – no, this is catching your breath from getting up to going to sleep.
This is not life – no, this is catching your breath from getting up to going to sleep.

Claw marks on the face,
sadness and lethargy dominate everyday life
–	a silent movie, in which needles are raining.
People are becoming scorpions, who sting themselves and others.
Each one of us knows, what dehumanization means.
Trees without leaves, they create the forest,
and sometimes it simply burns down.

This is not life – no, this is catching your breath from getting up to going to sleep.
This is not life – no, this is catching your breath from getting up to going to sleep.

Uncountable arms, going up and waiting to get pulled out.
They are growing in the sky like antennas, waiting for reception.
The wind blowing through their hands, wind blowing through the world.
They would love to, but don't believe in it.

This is not life – no, this is catching your breath from getting up to going to sleep.
This is not life – no, this is catching your breath from getting up to going to sleep.

My prettiest dress

One day I will leave the house, wearing my prettiest dress,
going through the streets and giving myself some time.
People will look at me- no-one threatens me, no-one hits me,
and they will carry kind words and respect on their lips.

One day I will leave the house, loving whomever I want
-we can close our eyes when kissing, in the subway and in the park.

One day I will leave the house, without having to hide behind my clothes.
I don't need to be scared of men in groups and the day will be sweetened.

I will feel so pretty, when I'm going through the streets.
I will feel complete, when I'm looking in the mirror.

I live the way I feel myself and don't need to make myself look small.
And I will be loved for that and I can be myself.

I am a boy and a girl, a man and a woman
- and none of them – I will see what I'm doing with it.
 I leave the house everyday.

Hit back

The acid bath, vicious looks,
daily path through a cage full of knives,
verbal attacks on the street, the bombardments hitting you,
but the fear, stitching up your lips.
Everyday life, which is maiming you all the time,
the speechless bearing,
having to obey humiliation,
even though your pulse screams in your temples.

Hit back! Hit back!
Don't swallow  – spit it out,
hit back!

With words, with fists,
with smiles, with screams
–	there are thousand options,
find yours.

Don't be the victim.
I'm also scared to fight back,
but I want it to stop.
I'm not too much scared of bruises,
I'm more scared of it going on like this everyday,
I cannot stand it anymore.

Hit back! Hit back!
Don't swallow – spit it out,
hit back!

With words, with fists,
with smiles, with screams
–	there are a thousand options,
find yours.

The trick

Every day we get older,
get squeezed and shaken up
have to watch out not to fall apart.
Getting bruised or numb,
too little rest, we're wearing out.

Some ears go deaf and some
mouths get good jobs.
Not forgetting how not to become
the best would be to write it down.

This world is a prison,
and if you forget this,
then you'll soon become a prison guard.

The trick is, getting older without putting on the boots, 
which trampled over you.

Dreams  are locked away
underneath well-kept skin.
Yet, the world doesn't get any happier (better)
by forgetting your pain.

There are many things you can live for here,
all of them legitimate – yes you're right.
Still, some of them are simply stupid,
they devour you and break your neck.

You're saying, we are full of ideas
but always only in the air,
for once, you wanna have ground under your feet.
You're putting your shoes under the same table,
that you so hated even then,
and there is nothing left from your ideas.

The trick is, getting older without putting on the boots, 
which trampled over you.

Why does everyone smile in photos 
even though they're scared of tomorrow?
Smiling happy and content
despite tremendous worries.
pretending that everything is all right,
that everything, truly everything is all right.

Yet, I can see the pain everyday
waiting in the checkout line.
And I am discontent and keep it to myself 
Still looking for a („the“) better world,
the search goes on, or else I will be lost.

What I miss is the weapon of refusal.
–	You have lost it somehow.
And you sit down at the table, which is running over everybody,
and I stand still and scream – 
hopefully getting old doing so.

The trick is, getting older without putting on the boots, 
which trampled over you.

Scissors in my jacket pocket

I'm carrying scissors in my jacket pocket, been carrying them for seven days now.
I'm holding on to them, even though they cut – to let go hurts so much.

Knowing coming and going, talking followed by silence,
but she's constantly screaming at me and doesn't care about my tears.

I don't know, where to carry my love – suddenly she's heavy.
I tell her to go but she punches me in the stomach.

It's not as if we hate each other, we just don't know where to go.
I force myself not to call you, or else my desire for you will never weaken.

I'm trying to forget the beautiful moments, tracing them with chalk
like outlines from someone who thudded on the ground.

First comes the thud, followed by the falling and the question of how to go on.
What is just and what's not – oh well, I don't think it matters here.

I'm standing here, painted sadly and thinking of your hand on my stomach.
Sometimes I go to sleep with it and sometimes I wake up to it.

I wished someone would come, squeezing out the past.
Then there would be no remembering, no forgetting and the rain would stop.

What's left is the broken promise, which never existed.
What's left is the broken promise, which never existed.

I'm carrying scissors in my pocket, been carrying them for seven days now.
Someday, it will all be over – then, I'll throw them away.

Your house without doors

Could be that you are sorry 
Could be that you are sorry 

My smile, locked into your picture frame 
the windows and the hull cleaned 
My room is not safe, it's nice and colourful. 
My heart, it beats like thunder 'n I keep my ears shut 

It is your house, your house without doors 
It is your house, your house without doors 

15 Minutes, an eternity 
For you 15 Minutes, for me an eternity 
My skin sticks to me, I`m somewhere else 
the sky, it is blue 

Life just goes on 
Yes, life just goes on - maybe yours 

To be afraid of contact 
To be afraid of someone using closeness against me 
and wishing someone had cut off my arms
 
Because you can show this easier 
than this pain 
Because you aren`t so alone with it 
Because  you  don`t have to be ashamed of it 

Could be that you are sorry 
Could be that you are sorry 
I don`t give a shit 
Could be that you are sorry

Take care of one another

When the morning greets you with fear and you don’t know what to do,
when the unrest keeps you awake – take care of one another.

When you're shattered and you don’t know how to cope and hope is on standby,
when darkness covers the only light - take care of one another.

If you have all that you need and yet you want to leave but don't know where
to go, then run away to come back home - take care of one another.

When your goal is out of sight, your courage small and longing bright, then
stay right here, just stick around - take care of one another.

When you clean the wounds with infected stitches and you can't see a way
out, when the pattern strikes you once again - take care of one another.
When the world feels muffled and moldy and rocks bear heavy in your womb, do
anything, cry, scream or dance- take care of one another.

When you feel your life can not go on and there's no one there that needs you
The pain will ease, believe me - take care of one another.

When stones talk loud cause hate grows strong and streets are covered in
smoke- don’t lose your head, stay together- take care of one another.

When you don’t know what to hold on to and the storm starts eating   your
house, get help, you cannot do it alone - take care of one another.

I will stay with you, keep reminding you, that you have strength beyond -
sometimes I forget that too. This shitty time will pass - as it started it
will end.

I'll put my arms around you and bite you - these hours, I've had them too.
I’ll stay right here, stay with you - take care of one another.
Take care of one another - take care of yourself. 

Compass 

I am looking for my way, it's not lying on your streets,
'cause when you walk these roads for too long, you won't get home.

Where to? Through the bushes or over the fence?
I keep walking, questioning, as when I stop I go numb.
There are stars in the sky, I know they're far away, but they exist anyway.
My legs get weary, I lay down to sleep worrying, tomorrow is another day.
I don't know where to go, but I will find out, step by step.

I am looking for my way, it's not lying on your streets,
cause they can't take me where I want to go.
I burn the map, 'cause it won't get me home.

The path ahead of me is dark and unknown, as was the path behind me, until yesterday. 
I get up, I breathe, I get dressed, I undress.
And none of it is meaningless, nothing is trivial
If we can't avoid the madness flying above our heads, lets stop it from building nests in our hair 

I am looking for my way, it's not lying on your streets,
'cause when you walk these roads for too long, you won't get home.

I wish, that my steps would scream on the asphalt and that my tears would burn holes in the ground.
Step by step I walk towards a home, which doesn't yet exist, and which will be rebuilt with each of my steps. 
I am afraid of the never ending jump into cold water, but I know there's no comfortable way out.

My heart is a map and my will is a compass.  
My heart is a map and my will is a compass.

The street sign says “stop” on the front, nothing's written on its back.
Its back is for you and me.

My heart is a map and my will is a compass.
I burn the map, 'cause it won't get me home

My heart is a map and my will is a compass.
The red-burnt bricks wait for the unbuilt house.

My heart is a map and my will is a compass.

It will happen 

Mankind is crushed under the wardrobe. Without lifting up the wardrobe it is impossible to deliver whole peoples from their endless and unbearable suffering. It is terrible that even one man should be crushed under such a weight: to want to breathe, and not to be able to. 

The wardrobe rests on everybody, and everyone gets his inalienable share of suffering. And everybody tries to lift up the wardrobe, but not with the same conviction, not with the same energy. A curious groaning civilization.

Thinkers ask themselves: "What? Mankind under the wardrobe? However did they get there?" All the same, they got there. And if someone comes along and proves in the name of objectivity that the burden can never be removed, each of his words adds to the weight of the wardrobe. 

And the whole Christian spirit is there, fondling suffering like a good dog and handing out photographs of crushed but smiling men. "The rationality of the wardrobe is always the best", proclaim the thousands of books published every day to be stacked in the wardrobe. 

And all the while everyone wants to breathe and no-one can breathe, and many say "We will breathe later", and most do not die, because they are already dead.

It is now or never.

It will happen, don't wait,
It will happen – 'cause of you and me 

Suitcase 

I have a suitcase full of questions and I won't throw it away,
just because I don't know the answers.
I will keep carrying it and I won't throw it in the dirt,
because it's the last of my proof.

A couple sitting stressed on the bus-they're probably going home.
Their eyes, their tenderness don't talk of love, they show the fear of being alone

An old man is picking empty bottles out of the trash, which someone else already drank.  
The kids at the corner laugh at him. He hates these streets, this town

Some people stay lying down and some are bruised, some stand in the light and watch.
Somewhere in the the gearbox we breath, where do I stand, and where do you?

I have a suitcase full of questions and I won't throw it away,
just because I don't know the answers.
I will keep carrying it and I won't throw it in the dirt,
because it's the last of my proof.

A woman drags a kid along the road and wipes off her troubles off on him.
This month still has too many days and money is tight again

People standing in the cafés – dressed up as if for sale.
They're sitting there, drinking coffee, eating cake 
and everyday life eats them up.

 Some kill themselves and some only kill time, of which there is mostly too little
How often can you fall and get up again-who lends a hand, when you're lying on the ground

I have a suitcase full of questions and I won't throw it away,
just because I don't know the answers.
I will keep carrying it and I won't throw it in the dirt,
because it's the last of my proof.

Every day he runs along the street towards a better tomorrow –he missed it  every day.
And the fear is standing at the corner, destroying present and laughing about his haste
. 
“Actually, I'm fine”, she's tells the neighbour, here “actually”  is a big word :
Actually she is lying, actually she wishes she wasn't here

Most people want to stay who they've never been, but the underground spits them out
And the pain and doubt they carry inside them, they put out like cigarettes

I have a suitcase full of questions and I won't throw it away,
just because I don't know the answers.
I will keep carrying it and I won't throw it in the dirt,
because it's the last of my proof.

The Heart Is a Muscle the Size of a Fist

We talk and argue with strangers, we cultivate friendships, we laugh and cry.
We fall in love, we improvise recipes, and try to live as radically as reality.
We talk with words, stones and poems, and write our desires on the city walls.

And the heart is a muscle the size of a fist

We shoplift in supermarkets, we read, and build the beautiful from the ruins.
We are strong, and we are weak, and swear with tears in our eyes 
never to become part of the lethargic mass.
We are armed with passion and the certainty that the impossible is possible.

And the heart is a muscle the size of a fist

We stay away from work, play truant and sleep on rooftops.
We show solidarity, we help others, also risking to be beaten and kicked.
Our dreams, our revolt are as old as time and will only die with the last human alive.

And the heart is a muscle the size of a fist

Tell me who I am, do you know my name? I am the fear, I am the courage, I am the beauty, I am the life, I am the hope in the darkness.

And the heart is a muscle the size of a fist

Thanks a lot for putting all the efforts in the translation of our lyrics to: 
A.ndy, Alexias, Bine, Café, Christin, Dave, Grace, Johannes, M2F, Markus, Matthias, Miriam, Nils, Paul und Tilman!