stupid coffee machines

… it's christmas day
on the summer city
and i am listening to endless neil young songs
that linger in the walls for hours until they disappear,
in my narrow cabin
over the dry sea,
while i count every step i failed to take
every delusion
every chord

… it's christmas day
on the summer city
and i count down the drunken kids on the dirty streets,
and the acid wigs,
and the homemade fireworks,
while i think about the snow
and the day we throw our bad luck into the east river,
so she would not come back anymore…
that second comer son of a bitch

… it's christmas day
on the summer city
and i recollect my wet laundry
while i consider which pill to swallow
to get over this headache,
and the deep holes in the streets,
and the war in mali,

and you