Look at the melancholy sky.
It’s like an orphan’s painting.
Even me, I'm not in love with anyone.
The meadow is crushed with fog,
And the crows on the dead tree
Make the outline of a skull.
The clock has struck some ungodly
Hour. I should light a fire with my ticket
home to warm my toes.
I stand here in the middle of nowhere,
With only my memories under my cap.
What good are they anyway?
Now new snow is falling.
There is a moon on the sheet metal.
When I blink, I have no face.
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