Lone return
Drawn big sun

A book of tales abandoned on the nightstand no one ever gets to read
A checked shirt soaked with kid sweat to be worn again despite its laundry need

Noon is motionless like in a painting
But laziness is as thrilling as a waiting

Burn burn burn
In the sun

Cumuli like icy towers for the gods to live away from tears
A bunch of tiny people getting serious about their wooden gears

A stray dog is barking in the distance
Must be the guardian of the spook resistance

And we’ll never know who’s living there, what’s going on out of the dream
And we’ll never know each other’s feelings with our feet plunged in the stream

Foam of consciousness is made of words
That always change their sound and sense

Turn U-turn
Drive me home

The afternoon is warmer than expected but us kids laugh on the trees
The bicycles have been left by the roadside, we got scratches on our knees

We’re ants chased by a magnifying glass
Unsheathing our swords made with blades of grass

And you’ll never know how much I longed how much I cried only for you
And how long I hoped you would return, all of a sudden out of the blue

Foam of consciousness is made of songs
That no one sings, that make no sense.