Nach der Stille ist das, was dem Ausdrücken des Unausdrücklichen am nächsten kommt, die Musik.




I hate the way you talk to me and the way you cut your hair.
I hate the way you drive my car.
I hate it when you stare.

I hate your big dumb combat boots and the way you read my mind.
I hate you so much it makes me sick, it even makes me rhyme.

I hate it...
I hate the way you’re always right.
I hate it when you lie.
I hate the way you make me laugh, even more when you make me cry.

I hate it when you’re not around and in fact you didn’t call.
But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you,
not even close
not even a little bit
not even at all.

ICQ 248-764-296