Me, the one who left and never came back
I, the one who has taken refuge in the depths of my cave
Me, Wound, Laughter, Rashts Warm-Blooded Accent
I, Berlin is half and half with my fence in my hand
Me, Langrud and a Love Memory
I, Rudsar, are running away on two legs
I, Turkeys Footprints Between Songs
I, hands and feet pouring in Athens
I, the house on the blister and us, the shed on the boil
I wanted to get out of everywhere
I, the soul of a few corpses from Siahkal
Floating in the cloudy sky of London
Me, Fouman Warm Soil and the Taste of Its Cookies
I, an old crow, deaf from my gossip
Me, a cold cologne and a door in its alleys
There is someone in me, a witness to my own death and decay
I am crying, the continuation of the Anzali rain
The ship is sitting inside me in the dust and mud
Me, the Last Passenger in the Seat
Im in pain waiting in Brussels
I, the huts of Talesh are drunk, drunk black
A hole in dog sweat from head to liver
My brain is left under the earthquake of the city
I am crushed in the heart of Sweden
Im a fugitive, Im a multiple ghost
A foreigner waiting for the moment of deportation
Im dead, a corpse on my way home
I am the one who was buried in Frankfurt.
