In the most faded corner of the city a cafe is there, 

“To be a rock, I have to rule.” 

Yeah, they hang that on their front door…

I think it’s quite pointless. 

Untill now the rocks have always won against the lost and fallen snows…

Some classic wooven blues roam around there, 

a runaway deserted evening…with creamed coffee, a long poetic drag on your cigarette…

and you will begin listening to every quivering anomalies of this shit based city. 

You drink…you smoke…your flapping of your two arms, 

you drink again. 

A loop of bohemian affair.

I don’t go anywhere now, and I kiss all my kisses there. 

You can’t help kneeling down in front of your sucked sweetheart…

They all find their solace, 

in that cafe. 

You don’t get humans their…that’s my isolation…no human…

But you will see humanities in every sharped chairs and evolved chandeliers.