A ton of Schwarzer Krauser hides beneath my bed
Since I returned last month I have not spoken thee
I fear you may have caught some Hepatitis C
Or pig pest, chicken flu, whatever else may spread
Your busking pal Ärrn told me: ‘His mobile’s dead’
And to my urging question, ‘Where the fuck is he?’
He counted up some towns and places by the sea
Which – I admit in shame – I did at once forget
If you are well, I do not worry where you’re at
Listen my friend, without you time is hard to kill
And I protest that I have not met your dog Cat
On Saturday I have a gig I cannot handle
(Short of musicians, put myself upon the bill)
Alas, if you were there you could prevent a scandal
aktivistinterventions 