For somebody - poem

Emptiness in the heads.  
Only bad phrases.
 The day passes by like cars on the highway.
 No time to greet.

The day passes by, like the wash-off water, 
which flows down the drain.
 Deep in the ground.
 I came from dust, 
and I become dust. 

If Jesus is the ultimate enlightenment, 
why does he not yet knocked at my door?
 Why is he always camouflaged 
behind a sect?
 Why do I have to spend money on Sunday?

The day passes by like an empty plastic bag 
in the wind, 
Not knowing 
where the journey is going.

They say I am no one, 
a madman who only meets 
with madmen.
  I say yes, so should it be.

Only in poverty you can touch the truth.

The day is a bad movie seen by a foreigner, 
Who does not understand a word.

I drink cheap Bordeaux 
and do not have to go to work.
 Then I get the cancer from smoking. 
Irgendwann rafft es jeden dahin. 
 
And there will be a boy at my grave, 
which is not my own.
 And he will pick strawberries there
 that have never been planted.
 And he will leave a letter 
which he has never written. 
And in the letter will be written: 
"I miss you."