Four in the morning and the world ends
Space bombs and mushroom clouds and holding hands while the stars march to their death
I’m left searching for my glasses
As you pull away and deteriorate into silence
You just smile at me
It’s that Can do attitude that’s getting me into trouble

Welcome to West Berlin, home of the brave, land of the slave
I watch from a window, everything, the sunsets and sunrises
The moral victories and the practical losses
You smiling out from enclave eyes, islands in a face otherwise occupied by enemy forces
Everything is fake and you fake everything
You sense the same in me

I was born and I never had a chance

Four in the morning and the buses have stopped running
So I falter gracelessly into a taxi, commanding
“Drive me back to yesterday”
Before I drank too much, before I spoke too soon, before I pressed my lips to your rigid blockade
Before the war split me in half
Leaving me straddling the wall between indecision and Nuremberg

Let me go, I beg, we’ve signed the treaty in blood and tomorrow we’ll be history

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