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