Bad Old Times

When school was out, they had a party
For most it was obsequy for good old times
As  I can’t remember to have had such
I strolled in, handsome and dressed to kill
As was my custom, and with lost poise

I vowed to speak to everybody once
But we were all caught in our little clouds of smoke
Burned up beyond all recognition on the insides
Those I hated, those I had loved, all gone up in smoke
Sunnyboys had turned into sungrazers

Later I sat outside on the curbstone to smoke.
A blond girl propped a cigarette in my mouth
Between lines of sweet-talk, I said
‘I’m an Existentialist’, and she dissolved in smoke
I felt all mawkish, but we didn’t dance

I did, though, floating between blank faces
And dilated pupils, that were all over the place
But no matter how wasted you are,
There are no stars above the city. And so,
We trot off into the night, without guidance

When I came back, they were all gone
Passed on into the future, and some,
Well, had just passed on. Those I hated,
Those I had loved. I was a dreamer without a future
And what’s more, I despised the past
 

• Autorensteckbrief von Jan Hofmann
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