Alte Gemäuer.                                                                                                                                                                               Verfallen.                                                                                                                                                                                             Nur betreten von einigen Fremden,                                                                                                                                                     welche sich hier und da an den Wänden verewigten.                                                                                                                         Unter den Füßen knirscht es und klirrt es.                                                                                                                     Zerbrochenes Glas schimmert im Sonnenlicht.                                                                                                                              An anderer Stelle bietet moderndes Papier sanft den Füßen Untergrund.                                                                                 Überall ein dumpfer Hall.                                                                                                                                                                    Jeder Tritt so laut,                                                                                                                                                                            als dass ich das Gefühl bekomme,                                                                                                                                                  ich müsste mich verstecken.                                                                                                                                                           Es riecht nach feuchten Wänden mit einem Hauch Sonnenstrahl.                                                                                                 Ich rieche den Verfall.                                                                                                                                                                Schon bald werden sich die Leute hier tummeln,                                                                                                                             in engen Gassen zwischen Supermarktregalen.                                                                                                                         Doch was passiert aus den alten Geschichten,                                                                                                                              die in diesen Wänden stecken.                                                                                                                                                            Kurz vor der Vernichtung,                                                                                                                                                                   hauch ich ihn ́ einen Funken Leben ein