You behind a glass look outside
Along the shimmer of the sidewalks
And people have dissolved into the evening
Your mother of average height, average dreams
Who blinks her camel eyes
And has not resigned herself, nor does she hope
A thorny bush, your brother
Who thinks on his fingertips
Stuck with a boiled look
Your father, hands of a lifelong worker
Who laughs and his face cracks
Pale from TV
You in a hurry to live something
And everything is already a worn-out memory
And now the advertisement

You and your bottled desires
Eyes like keyholes
And a numbed anxiety under white snow
Your father always waits for some ship
Tightrope walker on the wire of the past
And dines with a tired steak
Your brother is a broken gramophone
A river of fleeing thoughts
He reflects in a spoon and makes a crooked mouth
Your mother mends some wrinkles
And a question of sweetness
That she brings to the table and leaves
You hidden deep in bitterness
Pretending that the world is a nice place
And now the advertisement

But what day is it, every day
And one evening every evening
And this evening like the others
That sits next to
And there is nothing that returns
No joy and no match
To set fire to everything

You in that little bird's back
That bends and you can see the worries
Of your tomorrows and your few years

Your father rubs his jaws
Like breaded in the beard
A cigarette in the middle of his teeth and he talks around it
Your mother who wakes up in rips and shakes
All the dust of a day
Without people and news
Your silly brother who gives a shove
To your heart turned upside down like empty pockets
And now the advertisement

Today is almost a century of boredom
What will happen tomorrow and after
And then in the next twenty years
Children of hopes
For a moment of joy
In the city of antennas and sky
And gray lights of the rooms

And the night falls like a cloth
To dim the eyes and the televisions
And you behind a glass look outside

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