I Jo Pensant

The pigs come back home, the cold in the guts
Hands too wrinkled from so much dignity

Boots without stomach that dirty the words
That come out of the mouths of a hungry town

Nights turn into dreams and feats
Recycled promises that filter out nightmares

Time with time makes history, which doesn't mean memory
Tongues disguised in blood that stains everything

And I just thinking if you'll come back
And I just thinking if you'll come back

The world is a joke, a game of lose or lose
That cuts without scruples the tears of the ill-fated

When impotence rules the eyes that still look
Showing the wounds, playing to go on

And I just thinking if you'll come back
And I just thinking if you'll come back