mariners will promise, clamped hands will wait

young swedes tired of their perfect old boyfriends fight in a filthy thief-ridden alley with their tattooed ugly dirty south american imperfect new boyfriends arguing on:

"we was drunk baby"

"don't call me baby"

"sory"

"she (was) my best friend"

so a voice echoes through their neck up to their watery eyes stuck to the ground:

"before you choose your wish you better take a look at its backpack".

they never realized that you can't run away and be caught at the same time. millennia have taught south european women how to stop a moment in time, and be prepared when it'll vanish.

unstylish bearded spanish rest on their ex-colonial presumptuousness as their puny history tells them they're better than others, meanwhile centuries pass by, and somehow they always find themselves in the last place.

with those years, emigrate italians play yarn and twine. foreign lands remain so, homesickness does too. while the clothes change, the faces and dreams don't. and never will.

it's the devil's bargain, you can have what you want, but never where you want it.

that was the night. i slept in a bed of clothes, knowing i'd be in winter when day would come again.