Who?


What would you wish, when there is nothing more to lose?
When all your dreams are like a lotto game
You are the one who ought to choose
Who'll live, who'll die and who is now to blame.

What would you do if God is just a word
With which we calm our souls in front of death
Who will decide to cut the living cord
And who will stay alive instead?

Who has to live and who is just a bag
With guts and tissues and some blood
Our destiny we should until the end just drag
Cause we are made from spirit, faith and mud.

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The Woe

 Once a peasant decided to send His oldest son to bring some wood. The peasant showed the forest end And taught his son for his own good To take an ax and the old cart And fell some drier trees. To cut them into smaller parts To transport them in ease. His son asked then what happens if A wheel is broken down He nodded head in disbelief Who'd help if troubles's found? The father answered though If you find yourself in plight You should call the woe. She would do all that is right. The son took an ax and the old cart He harnessed their mare And deep into a forest part For his worst despair The car broke down, he called for long The woe though left him all alone The night was falling - he got strong And helped hmself on his own. He came back home in disbelief He asked his father why he lied The father smiled in a mischief And he gave repply: And what has happened, dear son? Woe helped you, when you were alone Cause if you want to get things done You should rely on your own.
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