If you have to come, come with no gypsy souls in your behind.
May be a suitcase with some of your red caged panties…a dead book…some lilies shaken from the boulevard.
So many dawns we have awakened each other from those sinking sleeps…
and so many lights we have wasted to find a confined forest in our eyes.
Some days we smoked our sun in the midway…
And we floated over the rained ghettos.
We were sold…we were sold for good…we were sold for crowd less towns.
I have found a nihilist motorcycle, I have to go to remember.
With no gypsy souls behind,
you can come.