Fire, Stone and a Sharp Knife

I guess I was a little nostalgic
and I kept writing for the fall
meanwhile you,caressing flowers
claimed that the spring has come

I guess I was a little angry
the time I wrote about my march
you wrote hymns for loneliness
about good friends,about the past

I guess I was a little nervous
the days I wrote about the Angst
how sweet your writing about lovers
your feelings that for ever last

I guess I'll always be the same
a fly that drowns in your milk
a fire, a stone and a sharp knife
tearing your dress of fine silk