1.
Not any gifted writer could tell me how my story goes
And not any taxidriver could tell me when I lost my road
And not any entertainer could sing away my troubled mind
And not any of my failures could teach me how to get them right

And there isn’t anyone who tells me where I’ve been
And noone who tells me what I need
I‘m alone on this road and don’t know where to go
Waiting for a route advisor at the crossroads
Who tells me where the fuck I’ll be alive

2.
not any kind of mother could tell this son the sense of war
and not any education could ever teach him what we’re fighting for
and not any “Hallelujah!” would lead his heart a way to God
and he’s longing for a true love- but overlooks the love he’s got


and there isn’t anyone who’ll ever notive when he cries
and noone who’ll ever know how hard he tries
to find a place that feels like home
where he could rest his restless bones
he failed to find a sole survivor on his journey
who could tell him why the fuck he is alive

3.
and not any famous painter
could ever draw her eyes the way they are
and no moral keeper told me if she’s been the one I was meant for
she’s the only one I wait for, but for now I have to let her fly
‘cause not any kind of sweet home
would ever make a bird forget the sky


and nobody in this world could ever tell me how to leave
to travel west while my heart lies in the east
and I’m afraid that I could die without her teardrops by my side
but stunned by brilliant beams of sunlight rising above us
I guess it’s time to be alive again