Ich schreibe am Bordcomputer ein Tiefkühlgedicht.
Eigentlich macht man das ja nicht.
Ich vermisse deine kalten Hände
und dein grelles Augenlicht.
Ich esse Bienenstich und ich denk' an dich (2x)
Black Alert (2x)
Schwarzer Alarm, schwarzer Alarm
Kuchen aus dem Ofen ist noch ganz warm.
Ich sage dem Navi-Bärtierchen:
Das Ziel, das bist Du
Das Tierchen will aber seine Ruh.
Ich vermisse deine Kühle
auf meiner Haut aus Crème brûlée.
Ich esse Bienenstich und ich denk' an dich (2x)
Ich springe durch Wurmlöcher
und Sternennebelwände.
Ich vermisse deine kalten Hände.
Meine Haut ist Crème brûlée,
ich werde fester durch deine Kühle.
CREME BRULEE
I write an ode to
your coolness on my
spaceship's computer
One should not do that, but
I miss your cold hands
and your blinding eyes
I eat bee sting cake
and I think of you
Black Alert (2x)
Cake fresh from the oven, it's still warm.
I tell the Tardigrade that you are our destination
But the Tardigrade doesn't want to work
It doesn't share my fascination
I miss your hands, they feel so cool
On my skin made of crème brûlée.
I eat bee sting cake and I think of you
I jump through worm holes
And go through walls of stars
I miss your cool hands
My skin hardens when your touch lands.
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