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And you behind a glass look outside
Over the shine of the streetwalk
And people have dissolved into the evening
Your mother, medium height, medium dreams
She bats her camel eyes
And hasn't resigned yet nor does she hope anymore
A bush of thorns, your brother
He thinks on the points of his nails
Pythoned over with that dumbed down face of his
Your father, hands of a workman his whole life
He laughs and his face creases
Paled by television
You, in a hurry to live something
And everything is already a stale memory
And now, the advertisements
You and your bottled-up desires
Eyes like keyholes
And a pained lust under white snow
Your father is always waiting for some ships
Tightrope walker on the thread of the past
And dines with a tired steak
Your brother's a broken grammophone
A stream of fleetful thoughts
He reflects himself in a spoon and pulls a face
Your mother mends herself some wrinkles
And a kind question
That she brings on the table, and then leaves
You hidden behind a bitterness
Pretending the world is a nice place
And now, the advertisements
What day is it every day
An evening every evening
And this evening like every other
It sits near you
And there's nothing that ever comes back
Oh, no happiness, and no matches
To burn all down to the ground
You in that little birdlike back
That curves and shows all your worries
For your tomorrows and your youth
Your father rubs his jaw
As if breaded in the beard
A cigarette between his teeth and he talks around it
Your mother she wakes up haltingly and shakes off
All the dust from a day
Devoid of people and happenings
Your moron of a brother that pushes
Your heart spilled over like empty pockets
And now, the advertisements
Today's almost a century of boredom
What shall we do tomorrow, and after
And for the next twenty years?
Children of hopes
For an instant of joy
In the city of Antennae and Sky
And gray lights from the rooms
And the night falls like a veil
Dulling the eyes and the televisions
And you behind a glass look outside
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