The market, grey cobblestone market.
Food stands at daytime, at night their smell in the air.
The fence, I used to chain my bike to,
fencing the town hall, that was always still there.
Canals, quays hidden by houseboats.
The bridge I crossed going to school.
The park, that used to be ramparts,
with trees housing birds since the days horses still pulled.
Back home Back home Back home Back home
That bus stop, I would wait for a ride home.
When home was only bus stops away.
The tower, old, grey tower.
Numerous passed you, of which most passed away.
Narrow streets, might look similar to others,
but endlessly special in my eyes.
When I arrive, I feel alive.
With each departure, a part of me dies.
Picture myself, dream of living in the town I chose to leave behind.
Torture myself. Envy people that I used to know, who don’t even realize that they’re still living
* Lyrics and music Oscar Kunst