Rafael:
the yelling crowds every
single prison cell of my mind
and is draped by the dire need to escape.
Grips tighten as the vines sway me on my way, my way
I'll make my home
in a new city
or over
empty fields of ochre
sitting on a bench
smoking a cigarette
and i'll visit cancer
in every single
home he owns
and those from which
he's been evicted
some he's having work done
just a little bit
of remodeling
the rooms and hallways of that little boy
who only wanted to live
i'll tell him we'll
sightsee this infected country
Justin:
streaming and screaming i'll walk out of this place
and i'll quit life and leave for a while
site-see in towns with nothing to see
make what i want of every street, every light
every guy sitting on a bench smoking a cigarette
to occupy
there's not much he'll be missing but offer him mine
in case he doesn't believe me
and i'll continue on my way to that little boy's grave
and together we'll have a great old time
because he'll have quit life just as i did and together we'll
sight-see this infected country