A tűz, mit hoztunk,
nem melegít — felperzsel.
Késő már fordulni.

Fagyott lélegzet
a múlt nem vár senkire —
csak újra sebzi.

Kozmosz fiai
lélegeznek némán ott,
ahol csend lakik.

Idő spirálban
visszahull a gondolat —
tűz születik meg.

Prométheusz hív,
láncra vert isteneket
gyertyafény ragyog.

Óriás lépte
remegteti múltunkat —
ember még sehol.

Kapuban állnak,
sisakjukban tükröződ
kezdetek tüze.

Fagyott lélegzet
a múlt nem vár senkire —
csak újra sebzi.

A tűz, mit hoztunk,
nem melegít — felperzsel.
Késő már fordulni.

Kozmosz fiai

LYRICS:

Woke up in curd-stained corduroy
Magazine deadline, dairy boy
Pasteurized thoughts in a coffee shop
Chewing on fate like it might just stop

But the hypno said, Close your eyes
And Odesa poured through saline skies

Thy grave is in Odesa, beneath the salted air
I saw myself in sailorskin, with brie inside my hair
The port was grey and silent, I drowned without a sound
Now I write of cottage cheese, six feet beneath the ground

Booked a flight on Air Monotreams
Luggage full of empty Ziploc dreams
Found the street from that old dream-map
A stray dog stared, then turned his back

Spoke to waves and whispered, Me?
A fishing hook caught destiny

Thy grave is in Odesa, the tide pulled back too slow
I tripped into a market stall, struck by a thrown potato
They said it was an accident, the vendor ran in shame
My notepad soaked in yogourt blood — no one knew my name

Now the magazine prints tributes still
Editor slain on dairy hill
Each issue sealed with Baltic foam
The cow-faced god has called me home

A sailor lost, a journalist found
Milk turns red where I went down

Thy grave is in Odesa, where two lives interlace
Where feta ghosts still haunt the docks with cream upon their face
I sleep beneath the Black Sea’s grin, embalmed in salted brine
And strangers drink to something soft they cannot quite define

No mast, no milk, no mortal plan
No headline for the sunken man
They buried me in borrowed snow
And marked it, Mild, but rich in woe

The churn goes on — both sea and press
Both bind the soul in weird distress

Thy grave is in Odesa, thy past life’s final loaf
Thy name was smudged by brined regret, thy legend lacks all oaths
But butter drips in silence still, where once you took your breath
A sailor and a critic now both moored in dairy death

I Wish I Was James Bond

Scouting For Girls

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