And firecrackers will explode.
Disturbing nerves.
Killing a piece of willow,
in the window of some stranger's attic.
I am no romantic,
I am scared of heights,
And all these "cat-and-mouse" games
Would drive anybody mad.
Again I am home,
She is flying round in a circle,
From some scary sickness,
Where every word spurts poison.
How many impossibles must one have
and truly, after tomorrow,
it will be too late, and boring,
We will be late.
We finally fly in, after 40 flights
in the intervals, the railway sleepers
I should know by now, I am allowed,
after so may impossibles...
Under a fluorescent lamp
Burned hands-nails,
Lips, elbows, bitten
And turned into vampires
It was stuffy in the night
And someone upstairs was crying
Bit of the willow has wilted,
probably, unwanted
And it was interesting,
and she had enough of flying,
she lightly hovered,
and all has come to its rightful place
How may impossibles must one have
and truly, after tomorrow,
it will be too late, and boring
We will be late.
We finally fly in, after 40 flights
in the intervals, the railway sleepers
I should know by now, I am allowed,
after so may impossibles...