Not at Home
We meet in some desolate bunker,
Sharing the blankets of our egoes
Those bank-accounts of loneliness
On which we keep ourselves.
Please, dont touch my insides,
Its only making matters worse.
Loving someone is useless,
Because we only keep our loneliness.
If we think we understand somebody,
We only tease our vanity;
If we really try to reach somebody,
We do it only for ourselves.
Dont dial my number,
Im not at home.