Wieviel Menschen Waren Glücklich, Dass Du Gelebt?

Maybe one day someone will ask you,
Someone who’s still uncorrupted:
How many people were happy that you lived?

And you glide through spirals of memory,
Through despair and through joy,
And the sorrow leaves you speechless,
Because you just don’t know.

And only hesitantly will you say,
That you often fought against it
On the paths of your journey,
That sadly you don’t remember anymore.

And the question will follow you,
Through spirals of memory.
You see tears on faces,
On faces that you loved,
And you don’t know anymore why it was like that.

The seconds of your truth
Lie hazy over the wasteland of memory,
And your smile remains frozen,
And you owe the answer,
And the torch of your self goes out in the wind.

Your words are loose stones in the bridge,
That binds nothing, collapses without a sound,
And the question, who was happy because you lived,
Trickles through loops of memory.