I crossed the Berlin wall
for the first time and I was not shot.
Moving westward to the stranger lands,
and always eastword back home again.
Where did I leave my jacket though,
did I not know it's cold in the west?
I have crossed walls since the lighter years
to trap the sun and not let go of the day.
I have crossed walls and tried to catch what
is on top, always in the distance, not coming down.
I crossed the Berlin wall again
and I survived one more time.
Two more times, three, four, infinite times and then
Bang! I was dead.
But my death had nothing to do with the Berlin wall,
and yet, think of it as you mourn me with regret.