Although you are the one with the scars
I have been the one carrying them
Heavy pockets full of stones
And of your sorrows at home I keep entire jars

I became old by accident just trying to sort all of them
Til I made rituals of ink on my skin just to travel far

Far
And I must undo to myself the evil received in the media of pop song

Far
And I went around and around
Asking endlessly the same questions

Far
The cargo jets growl and tempest and it is never far enough

Far
And I ground my bones to a dust to make magic potions

Let me carry the child and grow plants in gardens that aren’t mine
And the promises to wait for your heart to go back to itself
Will only make sense on the day that I am gone

For your sorrows at home I keep an entire shrine
Where all sorts of demons are stored on a shelf
And I’ll never come back to them if I travel far

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