We own this city, or at least the cemetery.
Gravestones the color of the bruise on my leg,
And there we found our names engraved.
So we lay down with arms crossed;
To practice our death and practice our loss
To practice our bodies in the art of growing moss.
And when we had risen, our souls full of holes
From the worms and the turns of the earth we endured
Vi undrade till sammans, på jakt efter hem.
^{we wondered together, looking for home.}