a middle of the night phone call from your mother a continent away

and suddenly the whiskey loses it’s edge

and the silver screen dream there in your arms

is half a world away

there are no words though i will try

in my disjointed and drunken way

to make sense of the world as i now know it

and this is what i know

my limits are becoming clear

with borders controlled and emotions in check

we carry on, we grab a beer in our political acts of light

we sit in cafés, unafraid, and stare into the night

a little worse for the wear

witnessing once again the folly of man

and now, holed up in a tiny dutch town, i try not to cry

because it would be bad for my rep

but i know as i return tomorrow

i will go into a place that is once again foreign

and the weight that is in my heart outweighs any of the joy

that i have recently become accustomed to

where do we go from here?

we continue just as we always have

we persevere, we drink, we fuck

and we bask in the knowledge that no matter what

the sun will still rise tomorrow