Lying on our backs,
|
This is your parents' bed,
|
A good place to be laid 'cos it's so neatly made.
|
Staring at the ceiling,
|
Vein to vein the lines look the same
|
As the ones that you're seeing,
|
And then you start speaking:
|
Rracing your father's footsteps in your mother's shoes,
|
Going up and over and across your latin roots.
|
Point points back to its origin,
|
Across the world cogs are clogged with the sand,
|
Here the air breathes freely and our tongues work loosely,
|
Border approaches border,
|
You're using your hands and smearing your r's.
|
I'm looking over my shoulder,
|
Strained resistance to scour the door for
|
your father's footsteps or your mother's shoes,
|
Coming up and over, cut across your latin roots.
|
It's time to meet you makers.
|
|
-----------------
|
Latin Roots
|
Fugazi |