Bottle in the window,
wineglass in the bathtub,
body shapes behind the frame,
coldness to the hand.
And everything bad is behind the glass.
Vase with the flowers,
washer filled with rags,
fights on the balcony
between the pigeons and crows.
And everything bad is behind the glass.
We sleep and the freeze
breathes upon the windows,
seeps inside over to us.
Dust settles
quietly on the TV,
new hero
at a dirty shoot-out.
And everything bad is behind the glass.
Death reflected in the eyes
of a little yellow fish,
the key witness
to yesterday’s little slip-up.
And everything bad is behind the glass.
We sleep and the freeze
breathes upon the windows,
seeps inside over to us.
World didn’t make it through
the explosion in the mirror,
Slavín, the Castle are gone,
Barrow on the Bradlo too.
And everything bad is behind the glass.
I swipe to the edge proper
over the phone’s screen,
that touchy shard of glass
and you’re such fine lady.
And everything bad...
We sleep and the freeze
breathes upon the windows,
seeps inside over to us.