Those who grew up in greyness Are marked by vivid dreams, by a mysterious virus. Branded since youth – these birthmarks Can’t be erased by ethnic cleansing. You can’t pave the sky with tiles, You can’t paint everyone in a bright palette. Heresy can’t be swept away, no matter how hard you try, And otherness can’t be mown down – choke on it if you try.
The Feeling
It can’t come quickly enough And now you’ve spent your life waiting for this moment And when you finally saw it come It passed you by and left you so defeated
Trip
Those were the times.