STADT ALS FREMDE

I'm gonna walk these streets of cold concrete  
Like I'm a ghost searching for its grave 
Then I'll dwell by the edge of this man made lake 
And descend into the city that holds no place for me

But the streets with no stir of life 
And all the houses on the streets are wholly submerged 
Then I'll gather the leaves from the cell phone trees 
And return them to their place and pretend someone's calling for me
Someone's calling for me, someone's calling for me . . .