Sometimes, at night, I pretend everything is fine
because that's better
Sometimes, at night, I get wasted, like a beast,
so I don't think
Where does it end up, the perfume of the stars?
You can't smell it from here.
God has not shown up yet, and the aliens are taking their time to come,
how would you understand?
And maybe the world is just the municipal zoo
of space, and they're watching us
laugh, tremble,
search in the fields of wheat, on the bottom of the sea,
where does it end up, the perfume of the stars?
You can't smell it from here.
And tonight I fixed my hair,
and I'm with you.
maybe it's fine
and I'm trying again.