do you know my east berlin?

a pusstule of hate
do you know what i feel
in silence it all makes sense
but someone always tends to speak
too loud
too harsh
it all blends into one big enema
flush out
flush in
and back again
will the concrete ever grow roses
will the mothers ever shut up
will the children ever in respect and pride just say thank you?
run my way
and then back again
i will take off my wig just to make you comfortable
happy