Every day at the midday,
Whether it\'s scorching or gloomy,
She waits in the Chinese cafe\'cross the way
Kidding and crying over the fortune cookies;
Fortune cookies we didn\'t break in past,
While accepting our helplessness.
Then we\'re gonna walk, gonna change the direction,
On pathways so public, yet fully unknown step by step.
On the edge again in our imagination.
Recollecting after the afternoon nap,
What did we go through in future,
Taking fatigue as is as usual.
Night sets it all on the bookcase shelves,
Between Prophetic Booksand tales of the Bible,
Tossing all these dreams like pointed shards,
Under our feet that are dancing on the tribal.
At morning, hangover with term of legality.
A separation of dream from reality.