four little horses

This is a city of whores
Of expensive ones
Of cheap ones,
Of the ones with no soul,
And of the loved ones.

This is a city of crows
Of white crows
Of black crows
Of the lonely ones
And of the assassin ones.

This is my soul of many dreams
With them I live
For them I die
Soul of many loves,
Soul of many cries.

This is a life of cold and warm
Cold of anguish in winter
Warm of deceits in summer

little presentation cards

And if i wanted
as a way of presenting myself
I would tell you my name
(that I do not know how to spell it)
I would show my fear
(that I do not know how to spell it) as a way of presenting myself
I would ask something dull
And another one with no sense, and then other and other and other one.

Maybe in a meeting
I would show my soul, uncovered
I would scare you with words you have never heard

I would tell you about my mother, my father
And of how I just like the day to die

I would tell you about my mother, my father
Of how we were two, or three
And that now, I’m not even one.

Through time,
You would stop respecting me
For knowing me that much

Little presentation cards
Of how we were two, or three
And that now, I’m not even one.