It clicks and it whirs and it chunters,
This wonderful little machine,
As it takes and measures and grinds
Those marvellous little brown beans.
It hisses and it gurgles and it splutters
Then finally begins to pour
And just seconds later
A Kaffee Lang awaits once more,
Which just slips down the throat
So any morning muzziness slips away;
After such a fine coffee
Any man can face any day
mostly when you leave
the sunshine stays, but it’s all different
and the hollowness
and the opression
and the muzziness
and the fecklessness
and the lassitude
and all that other things, even slightly
hit sharply like soul lightnings
and fire tornadoes
and the beating tomato of my heart
feels like a ketchup trapped in a bottle
but I‘ll always wait until that day
when I can see you again
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