sometimes i feel like i'm howling
basta
give me somethin' important to do
but the time is dragging me
like a mother who tries to take out her child
from the toy store

strange sensation that everything i've done
was just an hide-and-seek
standing by a wall with my eyes closed
counting loud
searching for finding no one
the wake up call in the morning seems
like an responsobility a way to change
my expired id

it started to rain like in london
the fax is running out of ink
i wonder if the turkish kebab salesman from the casharlton street
lost his bussiness
how the docks from dover are looking like in the morning
suddenly i discovered that i'm a man happy with less
so i spoke to the workers on strike in the westminster station
if you want less it will seems that you have to much



sometimes i dream about a curly woman
inside whom i could live like a poised officer worker
who always come home at the same hour
who pays his rent in advance
and falls asleep while he drinks a cup of cider
or
i coul turn her into tunel
to write with grafitti all over
theories about the evolution of us
about how two never divides to one
but one will allways divude in two

one by one
people become soundless
the way street lamps burn down