It’s getting late
In this midnight
With our gloves, and hat
And winter-shawl on
To keep us warm outside
We’re flying in Iceland
With ice in our hair
I can see reflections of little bright lights
Beneath my feet
And one appearing star in the sky
Which also can be an airplane
A mindless space away
Almost out of sight
I can see this black spot moving fast
And when I think it over
You’re possibly running
From being chased
Fire-red glüwwine in my one hand
And all over my clothes
Remnants of salt because I though
It should get a change to disappear
in the washing machine..
Panted, while I’m trying to exhale in the meantime
With my shoes untied
I would hide
Right now
If i were you
'You’re being followed’