The key turns the lock, the lock turns the key
Keep walking till it turns yet another mile
I checked the papers, wondered, is this really me
This time it's serious, another dead black file
Black or brown? The choice created even more traffic jams. Chilly and full of slippery wet snow, I needed something to keep me warm. I checked the time, already late, even more so if the car wouldn't start from the temperature drop. Black it was. Grabbed the stale croissants off the table, after all, nothing is worse than something.
I drove off skidding a bit, stuffing flakes and cream into my mouth and trying to sing along to 'The Wanderer'. Quite a song to put on air in the morning. Really, what am I doing here?
