Man kann machen was man will.
Ich bin müde, verhalt mich still.
Zwecklos, aber ein Versuch.
Du wirst nicht finden, was du suchst.
Ich nicht raus, ist mir zu kalt -
aus alt wird neu, aus neu wird alt.
Alles Lüge, alles Gift,
ich hab dich selten so vermisst.
Und das Gefühl, dass mich das auffrisst.

Inzwischen bin ich ziemlich müde
und ich gewöhne mich daran,
dass man egal, was man auch anstellt,
diese Art von Spiel...
nur verlieren kann.

Alles still, doch keine Ruh.
Alles dreht sich, Augen zu.
Stellt sich die Frage nach dem Sinn,
kann ich nicht sagen, wer ich bin.
Schon lange nichts von dir gehört,
was wirklich niemanden hier stört.
Außer meinem Selbstmitleid -
denn das ist alles, was noch bleibt.
Ich hoffe... es tut auch dir Leid.

Inzwischen bin ich ziemlich müde
und ich gewöhne mich daran,
dass man egal, was man auch anstellt,
diese Art von Spiel...
nur verlieren kann.


Lyrics submitted by AROBTTH

Frueher War Ich Meistens Traurig song meanings
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