Inspired by Ziad Rahbani

On the buzzing of the engine that was taking us,
From the village of Stockholm, to the village of Kalmar,
And I remember no one, and I remember no one’s eyes,
As I sat under a Swedish moon peaceful and past-full,
Autumnish and dumbed down by global warming,
With its anorexic evil twin mirrored by my glass window,
Nursing a heart widowed too soon, with the smile that survivors plaster on
their faces, to hide their wishes of death,
As I walked under a rain as restless and quiet as I am, with no one eating let-
tuce and no one eating figs,
Dreaming of social Ikea social integration models and Her&Herr&H&M
assimilation,
On automated reVolvolution assembly lines, churning out buses where there
is no man with his wife,
And how ugly his wife should have been, and I swear to you, he would have
left her,
To go on all alone to Kalmar if he only knew how beautiful your eyes were
supposed to be,
And I watched comme des humains wearing comme des garcons bylines to
cover their Damien Hirst worthy skelettons and skulls, with weary and lonely
hearts,
Pumping blood to pumkin heads, full of Gilbert and George Orwell,
Oh well, the Swedish pale sun will be shining soon, even better,
Somewhere on an odd numbered building on Narvavagen,
It is shining already sur des coeur perdus sans collier,
And somewhere near the Pacific, a rosebud blooms in a November heat
wave.