poor, poor poor us. discovered so many bad sides of life. had so many hard times to cope, so often not being accepted as who we are. poor, really poor us. trying to have a better „us“ to find out, there always has been a third party „u“, getting another „us“ for the last „i luv u“. we are so poor. having enough to eat, a warm bed but no one who cares about our soul. poor us. are quick, trained, loud  and drunken from time to time. having chances, taking few of them, losing friends as well as pounds… and gaining them again.

need drugs to keep alive. buddys wtf went wrong in our history? addicted? why? its still about love and being loved, so drive your big cars, wear your leatherjackets and have a fight for the girl you luv. but hell who do we think we are? no one else cool beside the storys we have to tell? poor us. stop crying litte girl, death should not be a fear-life should be. and the hard times which aren’t and the good times we have but see, when they gone.