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Picking dry |
|
And crispy paint flakes |
|
Off a large, white |
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Brick wall |
|
While I stare |
|
Out of my window. |
|
Stare at my neighbor's balcony. |
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Old bullet holes. |
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Behind wild botany. |
|
On the outside |
|
Of the penny marked |
|
Punks are selling |
|
Black and white fanzines. |
|
She buys one, |
|
Walks on by |
|
To another. |
|
Black and white. |
|
The women meet, |
|
Black and white, |
|
The women kiss. |
|
Doodelei. |
|
Shy, polite |
|
You show me yourself. |
|
Forgetting regretting, |
|
But conscientiously humble. |
|
You, you tell about your past. |
|
And with open arms |
|
You listen to mine. |
|
Ooh dei doodelei |
