Make Honey

Holding threads of roses in your hands
Calling me on the phone in the evening
You look at the sky during Lent
But what makes you think that I am me?

And will you make honey at all?
When will I need your help?
So you better not touch me
And let me watch
As the leaves fall
On this sand, on this grass
And then maybe I'll take you to make honey

And when the day has half an hour left to live
And the darkness of the apartment will remember the movements of the bodies
And when the petal falls from your face
And the smells of roses will reach the last wall
I'll tell you that it's time to make honey