the right key

under this grey air conditioned sky
days seem years
years seem centuries
scraps of time
empty and useless

and you sacrifice yourself
and you hope
and you wait
but sooner or later you get tired
 of being border, of being trench

sooner or later you dream about being
water of a river, foam of the wave
or
 like that small key
the right one, finally!
the one that enters into the lock and turns
and releases
 life
real life

under this grey air conditioned sky
days seem years
years seem centuries
scraps of time
empty and useless.....

 - please don't move!
 let me tell you this story
just one more time
just one more time
before we part

Marco Bo