 |
| Working Still by Borg de Nobel |
I hear your cries
like Spanish radio
in the apartment next door
I have no milk
I haven't eaten in three days
Ashes to ashtray
dust to rock
dreams to smoke
I cook my meals on a dirty spoon
I feed death to my bones
I saw your mouth move
like a hatchling bird's
My empty spoon
can't fill your hunger
I am nothing
