Ricochet

Wouldn’t be nice if we were close
Or pretending that the war could kill the ghost
Maybe I could operate
But I’m done that’s not breakin' news
You cannot turn the volume down as you choose
somewhere in the house across the sea maybe in a distant memory
Now and then you reappear out of nowhere
Like some ricochet, now you wait against the curtain
…underneath the sea
… spite my memory
Hard to make believe nothing means anything to me.
We. in the patria
Un a tattooed thrown with a broken hearth
Follow home.
You have to demand your rights but you’ll never win if you try.
But in some corridor flickers a poor stubborn.
I can put it all or burn it down
Can I turn this shepherd.
Almost empty …
Hard to make believe nothing means anything to me.