In my swamp, every pain is like a triumph, suffocated by my frustration, I get no air again, but it's all good, because I'm to blame for it myself, sink in my own dirt, drown in my swamp. I sit with my eyes closed from the stroboscope, they talk about thousands of colors, I see everything monochrome, monotone without a sound, the inner truth lives like Josef Rohr, makes me tough like Huxley, but doesn't tolerate anything like Kutra Palli, gets Pazmatis and Kasali on the Rumpelstiltskin, neighboring Rumpelstiltskin, write everything down on Murakami, feel like I'm in the wrong movie, as if I had Asperger's, when I'm big, I also want to become a star, but the half-empty glass doesn't serve the whole, just a failed artist like Charles Manson, but give the last bit, my last shirt, eat it with a dry mouth, everything for the measuring of the hole in the chest, nice guys, I think Lars is the best, we're coming to the jump, every pain is like a triumph, suffocate on my frustration, get no air again, but it's all good, because I'm to blame for it myself, sink in my own dirt, drown in my swamp. I'm the needle in the hay, the one in all, see everything at the same time, everything as one, dance on the string of strings, mind is present, I know that I'm sleeping, like the changing contradiction, trapped in the transition, frozen at the point of no return, born in no man's land, died in the desert, enjoy the pain and like a triumph, Gelmeyer for the art, stay in my swamp, keep making me stupid until the last writer dies, but mom, don't worry, if I stay healthy, too tired to sleep, too thirsty to drink, too funny to laugh, too hungry to eat, and the music too good to let it go, too tired to sleep, too thirsty to drink, too funny to laugh, too hungry to eat, and the music too good to let it go.