Woorden: Million Dead. Other. Cathagio Est Delenda.

To Carthage then I came
As a young boy lost in the promise of
The steady beating heart
Of the metropolis.
But I spent so long here beneath
The dim street lighting that
I strained my eyes and
Lost the finesse of hy fine hand-writing.
It's not like I need it these days-
My letters home have been
Getting shorter. I can't concentrate if
I can't secure a source of clean water.
But there's never a drop to drink
In these concrete furrows.
My anger is Vesuvius casting its shadow.
I spent so long walking across bridges,
Failing to appreciate
The sweating rivers flow escaping.
Leaving the city streets
Tinderbox-dry and its oh-so-tempting.
My fatigue is San Andreas
Shuddering slow.
I mark my lintel with bloodstains and
Dream of suburbs up in flames.
Every evening when i arrive
Back at home and
Finally lock my front door,
Carthagio Est Delenda,
And the pavements are
Beaches once more.
The alarm wakes me,
The concrete is back in its place.
As i trudge through the streets
At the break of day.
It's the river that calls me away.
The river flows outside of town,
If i could follow it to the sea
I'd wash the sweat right off of me.
So break my legs and weigh me down,
Throw me in, but I won't drown-
I'll float away, go down the stream.
The river flows outside the city.