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surname of copenhagenthe land that we stand on is not ours
the house that we sleep in is empty
there's ice on the lake and it looks so old
the days are becoming friendlier
the water has broken in new clouds
the wrist of the skyline is bleeding
the temperature's stagnant as rooftops
Under The Aeroplane, Over The SeaWhen little children grow up to live inside the house of stone, they throw,
the glass around their home.
And then these holy seagulls will find their way across the sea, the seas another white (?) for me.
And she will reach towards it and grab the handle on the door, the door that leads inside the core.
And when the war is over
Don’t let her run away.
And when the war is over…