have some faith in the crows

Cold is the morning

crows nowhere to be seen

but there´s white, white, white

white everywhere, just white.

Should I feel lost? Can I feel lost?

A cigarette is freezing in my fingers

oh how it tastes… so good.

It makes me wonder...

maybe there´s a God?

Bill sung something about it 

Some would say it’s a heresy...

But meanings are not science

Meanings are an insurance.

Like home. Like comfort

still everything white,

no crows to be heard.

I wish I had a Teresa.

Maybe then I could just... word.

and stop with the wondering.

Maybe then, the triad

could be for another time, another life.

Or maybe I could search the crows

Ask for their mercy

Beg for their hatred

And still everything would be white