Father, my hands are much too large,
I cross my arms when I go out
or else I keep them in my pockets,
their weight pulls down on my shoulders.
I don't hear prophecies,
I don't see visions.
I can't get to the Moon,
I can barely climb a mountain.

Inside a muzzle kisses have a taste like metal
and my throat swells shut.
The world seems enormously beautiful outside these windows
if no one stabs me with a coat peg
I'll sit a bit longer, then step off
and restart the journey,
I'll make sure my fly's not down.
What might I see this timeľa thousand things, happiness or love,
maybe even you if I don't fall.

Mother, my head is too small,
many things won't fit in it
that's why I don't know much.
I don't even recognize myself.
The lines on my forehead are straight
sometimes pain tilts me to the side;
when I want to go straight ahead,
I have to go around in a circle