Liriche taglienti, profonde, amare, rappate, un flusso di pensieri e una tempesta di emozioni
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Of all these people in all these houses,
only these seven are awake.
They shiver in the middle of the night
counting their sheep mistakes.
Is anybody else awake?
Will it ever be day again?
Is anybody else
awake?
Will it ever be day
again?
(p. 24)
The buildings are screaming
I can't ask for help –
nobody knows me.
Hostile. Worried. Lonely.
We move in our packs
and these are rites we were born to
Working and working
so we can be all that we want,
then dancing the drudgery off
But even the drugs have got boring.
Well,
sex is still good
when you get it.
To sleep, to dream, to keep the dream
[in reach.
To each a dream.
Don't weep, don't scream.
Just keep it in,
keep sleeping in.
What am I gonna do to wake up?
(p. 43)
It’s 4:18
Pete’s fourteen doors from home.
His thoughts are like a pack of starving dogs,
Fighting
over
the
last
bone.
(p. 72)
The sickness of the culture
and the sickness in our hearts
is a sickness that’s inflicted
by the distance
that we share
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