i.m.t. Smile
Klik-Klak
Crows are crowing,
it is drizzling insensibly.
We are here as if
we are not there.
The air smells of tobacco and wet clay.
You speak in silence, also in muttering.
Broken Lacko, he gives you goosebumps.
You pretend to be excited, you don't want to hurt him.
Hanging leaves, hanging heads,
your look at earth, they say a lot.
We played something in the drizzle,
who is the winner here, and who is the loser?

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