What happened to you, youngster, hm?
Winter in you bones.
Get your sunshine packed. Get off your little clubs, expensive stale drinks, friends and songs. Your everthesamebeats-songs. Let it behind you, the noisy sweat, the dirty glitter of the woman dressed in terribly neon blue-yellow with her dreads falling off her headskin.
Get it in, best greets to the floor with the wooden steps and the horny footprints on it.
Sunshine, a bit of your best drinks or coke, and get out of there.
Rip it, red wine, beer, a swim in the salty so called sea, forget your sins and do them again. These are the ones who make you breath, make you feel the blood pumping through your face, cheeks and front heat, under the roots of your hair, through your veins.
Stars? Have them in you, take them back to where they belong and never use them to satisfy someone else.
Good night tiny winter. Not today.
The shiny breakfast told us to be straight to our stolen fears. So, we’re no made lairs, so we’ll leave the snow-covered mountains behind but never forget them. It’s them who gave me the new taste of this great cigarette again.