Trolley cases on the quay, tourists are part of it when you live here And Thin John, sitting straight on his bike every morning three times around the block in the afternoon on foot the other way around Mario the Sidewalk Speaker also is part of it with his dog
Children jumping cannonballs next to party people in their sloop Anyone going on vacation Every two minutes an air-plane against the wind, low over the houses Cyclists with their priority face and the people who live here
The Americans in front of their café on the corner, where believers sat when the church with the tower was still there Red Mia shuffling around the litter bins, and neighbours arguing again They all belong
Here and everywhere the world is maladjusted, we know about ourselves and we address each other: Hello! Good morning good day here where we are at home and can only wish that everything remains different