My soul is from elsewhere

All day I think about it,
then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and
What am I supposed to be doing?

My soul is from elsewhere,
I’m sure of that,
and I intend to end up there.
This drunkenness began in some other tavern.
When I get back around to that place,
I will be completely sober.
I’m like a bird from another continent,
sitting in this aviary.
The day is coming when I fly off,
but who is it now in my ear,
who hears my voice?
Who says words with my mouth?
Who looks out with my eyes?


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