she'll be asking

I am not my mother. I am not my grandmother and I am not my father, not my aunt, not

my daughter - oh! how blissful would it be to be like her to start all over again da quelle ginocchia sbucciate und wachsen, wachsen bis zum Schreibtisch, mich hinsetzten, um zu schreiben: ich

bin meine Mutter nicht.

e yet, I see che le nostre gioie e le nostre lacrime vanno e vengono from the same sea.

Mum? I want to dive. I dare to be.