Streets of Berlin

Tattered cloths greet their sight
To whom makes living with her lullaby
Cries and pleas echoed into the night
Playing their heart strings, as they walked by
Clinking pockets, went to and fro
Neither a penny, nor a glance
Still the music went on slow
With the night wind the lyrics dance
When the witchin’ hour has begun
And the clock strikes, beds are laid
Her tune becomes a forlorn one
Sang till heavenwards, turn shades of red
On a desolate morning, she forever sleeps
Yet for her no one weeps

– a.h.


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