Sickness grabs me by the hand

And the cramp in my left leg warns me

That if the nails of my hand are painted

With some blue polish from I don't know where

There is probably

A lot of things

That I should remember (or maybe not, afterall)

And between the cramp in the morning and the falling

There is no space

And it is filled up with nightmares

And they are all about you


And an L-trainful of hipsters is rushing towards me

And between the tight jeans and the second hand scarves

And every baseball hat

There is a way to bump into you

And if they play my songs in the coffee store

After the e-mail

And the laundry

They would be all about you