Sans Domicile

She's got wind in her head
and her memories are flying away
that's why they push her away
that's why they call her crazy
so she talks to the birds
or makes ripples in the water
and little things that hold her back
from jumping into the Seine
she's got a hole in her heart
and so much love that gets lost
she loves the pain so much
a guy who just doesn't care
so she doesn't want to be pretty anymore
she doesn't want to be anything at all
she sleeps between two trash cans
right next to a cat that couldn't care less

and then
there are all these trains
that leave for far away
and then
there's the daily grind
and all its ties
and then
there's time slipping by
and then
it's easier
to invent an island
without a home

She's got wind in her head
and her mind is fading
she doesn't know in which storm
she lost her compass
it's true that with her umbrella
that she opens even under bridges
she looks like a little ship
stranded on the concrete
she watches the other lost souls
the shipwrecked of winter
but everyone is on their own
everyone for themselves in hell
she doesn't want to know about them
and especially not their stories
she doesn't want to see herself in their eyes
she's too afraid of mirrors

and then
there are all these trains
but which one is hers?
life
what does it depend on?
almost nothing
it just takes
being fragile
it just takes
feeling useless
and we get lost in the big city
without a home.