I had to tell you. I had to again and again. Forgive me.

As I consider my soon to be return in the city of eternal glow,

I touch the mere mont-royal nights that I'll merely miss.

I drink up my seventh pint of cider with a lucious, stupid,

dutchess-like smile, what is wrong with you darling?

My heart drowns into my sick liver and gets burn by the acids.

Life is not a Russian novel. Life will not be a russian novel.

Velvety coat of dust, come wrap your arms around and let me

fall into the vortex of years.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Prague doesn't change, Prague won't change. It passes

through time, ageless and tasteless, but always remains.

Every time I re-enter this shitty airport, I return untouched,

unchanged, the cobble stones under my feet, a pale luminary

over my head. I reminisce those nights I'll live over and over again.

Take me to Rome. Take me with you.

It's warm, it's a warm, sexual, complicated Prague I'm moving into.

It's the sequel of a b-rated movie, where people are flooded with

massive amount of alcohol and evident lack of self-judgement.

It's a dark fantasy, really dark-grey.

Prague, ton enfant chérie est revenue.

Jadetčka Jadetčka Jadetčka Jadetčka Jadetčka Jadetčka.