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
