There is a ripped page of the sketchbook
There is a little fella calling your name
There's a memory when you were upset
There's a plaque where i was

the cars pass like no one around her
the hikes get through like the rain
the wind says it's going to pour soon
but i dont know if I'm going to get wet

at every station that I've called
there is always the same task
"we cannot help you right now"
"you should have called some years ago"

a little insect is chewing the page now
is like the time that pass away
your favorite car just hits me
i've lost the legs that moved me where you were

i'm writing this in a cold jail right now
there's no prisioner, except my fate
and if you see the stars now
you'll see the one with your name

i prepared the bed for the last time
tomorrow i will meet the chief
i will reencounter my dead dreams
the same you laugh about yesterday


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