If you have found the song every nights over the concrete highways sings,
Every translucent traveller going for the woods sings,
and every disoolved nomad with holes in their body sings,
then hang on to it.
I know you have to be an insane drunkard for that,
you have to loose the candy of sex a lot many times
and you have to wait frozen nights and nights for those blossomed melancholia.
But hang on to it.
I know, there’s no other way.