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letra de winter morning ii - woodkid

i remember the sound of the wind as i was falling asleep. the tree branches scr-ping the roof like people [?] whispering. i arrived here one winter morning or maybe it was spring. i can’t remember anymore. the mind plays tricks.

papa had just died two weeks before. the ground was frozen where they dug his grave. mama left a note in my suitcase telling me to do something that would make her proud. to be a good man. there were so many winters.

i came here because i wanted a home where i can find peace. where i can be treated like anyone else. where i can be anyone i want to be.

it wasn’t always empty. they all had to come down here. people would line up here, holding their suitcases and their children holding on to them for dear life. they were young people and old people, families, lots of them, they were completely alone.

they waited their turn to reach the guard at the end of the hall. the guard would stamp your book and say “go over there and welcome”. i was one of them. when i got here i went into a huge room, doctors asking me these quick questions. a doctor comes to me and tells me “you’ve got to go back”. i say “back where?”, he says “back where you came from”. i said “i’ve got to go to new york, i come for a new life”. he says “no, you can’t. you go to ‘back home'”. and i fight him. he doesn’t listen, he says “five minutes” and walks away. i grab my suitcase and i went and hid in the closet behind all these dressing gowns. and when it was dark, i went and hid somewhere else. and somewhere else. i stayed where n-body could find me. and a week became a month.

i had only one thing in mind. one place to be. like you could fly if you had the wings. you could swim there if the current wasn’t so hard. lots of people try. and i tried lots of times to get there. i even tried to swim once but i only made a little way.

one night i met somebody else. she was hiding too. so we hid together. living at night. and we talked about what we would be when got to the sh-r-. what our lives were going to be like.

and one day she didn’t wake up. so i took her body and put it in the water and… watched it float to where she wanted to go.
and i was alone again. i’m sorry, it was so close.

there were all these millions of people who come through here. and i see them all. people of every color, shape and size. and i think about all those people who did. all of those that made it. made it to some distant sh-r-, where when they come up the beach or over a bridge or around to a road, they start to walk. and they start walking faster and faster. then they are running. they made it. they were at last home. but don’t get me wrong, i’m the ghost of all those who never got to get there. and the ghost of those who will never get there.

- woodkid

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