The Piano keys, the earnest voice, the guitar strums
On memories of first discoveries
Of cold nights and warm heaters,
Of fish n’ chips and empty tubes
Quite buses and lonely streets.
Of getting lost in the maze of beautiful houses
With thick carpets, trimmed gardens and sexy cars,
Of artists and singers
Singing and painting in silent street corners,
Of waiting to find myself.
Of high towers and row houses,
Cold glances and warm hands,
Running down my spine.
There is a desk for me,
People with kind eyes,
Who share their half meals.
Their homes are small, devoid of carpets.
The streets are noisy,
With no place to walk
But, there is no time to lose myself,
there is no way to lose myself,
And I always, always find
I am with myself.