In den Staedten bebte der Asphalt, es schwelte das Gestein.
die Glatzen und die Dunklen schluen sich die Schaedel ein.
die Fluesse schwollen schweflig an, der Dom zu Koeln versank.
die Menschen wankten glasig durch den suesslichen Gestank.
Der Friese schrie aus seinem Evangelium.
Der Dichter schlang ihm schliesslich einen Knebel um.
Ich komme von der Grenze,
wo die Haehne wie im Schlaf geworfne Babies kraehn,
wo die unebetnen Fremden durch den Mischwald gehen.
Dort lernt man wilde Taenze
und Schreie nach Vergeltung fuer die alte Schmach.
Ein graues Land. Und jede Menge Wut liegt brach.
"Wir leben in der Schande",
so endete zuhause jedes Nachtgebet,
und wahr war nur, was nirgends in den Buechern steht.
"Das Neue waechst am Rande",
so plaerrten die Propheten uns die Ohren weich.
"Und eines Tages wuchern wir ins Herz vom Reich."
Das alles steht geschrieben
in meinem Sterngesicht.
Lebend, lebend,
lebend kriegt ihr mich nicht.
Wir spielten in Ruinen,
die standen dort gut erhalten seit dem letzten Krieg.
Dazwischen bluehten neue mit der Aufschrift SIEG.
So mancher trat auf Minen,
der wurde dekoriert und dann vom Sport befreit.
Und doch war es im Grunde eine schoene Zeit.
Ein Fernsehmoderator
zerstoerte Mutters zweites Chirugiegesicht:
Sie lachte ueber ihn, und das vertrug es nicht.
Es ar mein eigner Vater,
ein Inbegriff von Pflichtgefuehl und Tugend.
So viel, und kein Wort mehr, zu meiner Jugend.
Das alles steht geschrieben
in meinem Sterngesicht.
Lebend, lebend,
lebend kriegt ihr mich nicht.
Ich hoerte nicht auf Lehrer,
die schleifen Aktentaschen wie den eignen Sarg.
Ich flog aus jedem Institut, ich trieb es arg.
Brandzeicehn Ruhestoerer,
der Anblick von Gebueckten macht mich wund und krank.
Mit Zwanzig ueberfiel ich eine satte Bank.
Drei Geiseln bei der Beute:
Ein fetter Friese, der sich fuern Erloeser hielt,
ein Frollein, das stets mehr als sein Gehalt verspielt,
zwei wirklich nette Leute.
Genau wie der Poet, der keinen Sinn mehr sah.
Der jubelte, weil endlich was mit ihm geschah.
Das alles steht geschrieben
in meinem Sterngesicht.
Lebend, lebend,
lebend kriegt ihr mich nicht.
Ich lebe in den Waeldern,
samt Geiseln und nem Dutzend von der Polizei,
die liefen zu mir ueber und wir atmen frei.
Wir ernten von den Feldern,
das Geld liegt unberuehrt in unserem Baumversteck,
die Scheine welk wie Herbstlaub und gruenbraun wie Dreck.
Ich will zurueck zur Grenze,
wo der Wind mich krault und meinen wahren Namen kennt,
wo man Eiensinn noch Glueck und Frolleins Frollein nennt.
Dort lernt man wilde Taenze,
und der Friese kann verkuenden, bis sein Mund ausfranst,
und der Dichter lernen, wie man mit sich selber tanzt.
Das alles steht geschrieben
in meinem Sterngesicht.
Lebend, lebend,
lebend kriegt ihr mich nicht.
Lebend kriegt ihr mich nicht!
Text: Kunze - Musik: Kunze, Luerig
Heinz Rudolf Kunze: Gesang, Gitarren
Heiner Luerig: Gitarren, Solo
Peter Miklis: Drums
Josef Kappl: Bass
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