From One to Six Hundred Kilometers
The most tender thing you’ve said to meis that I suffer from paranoiaSometimes when I wish to killI count from one to six hundred kilometers
Yet I fail to feelI sail to seaI fail to behave rationallyAnd I fail to gripI fail to keepI fail to think about me
If I were able to hatePerhaps hatred would bring me reliefI ought to have a steel browAnd a heart of stone
Yet you failed to feelYou sailed to seaYou failed to embrace my insecuritiesAnd I failed to gripI failed to keepI failed to think about me