Alina Simone


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I have to crawl away
From the declaration of war onto all four strings
From the narrow-minded spring into all four walls
From burnt food behind all four misfortunes
From a generation of evil into four black numbers
Throw on the old uniform worn by somebody to holes

I will have to do without blue dusky birds
Without mismatched eyelashes
And revise in the morning what didn’t work out yesterday
Leave the dirty railroad car and continue with the haul
On the uncooled ashes, on a self-made broom
To throw open your arms in sleep, to not trip in the dark

I will have to swap the ritual
That I am sick and tired of
For a deadly missile
The squeaky chair at the table
For a child’s scream around the corner
The wreath of tangled roses
For a depressive psychosis
The psychedelic paradise
For three bolts for the shack

Everyone is crying out to me, beware
Everyone is crying out to me, beware

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Alina Simone en Noviembre