If that was you standing in the fog
Out on the street's corner in the dark
Waving a monotonous hand at me
With the other thumb in the air
Picking up a stranger's ride
Away into the night
Then won't you send a postcard
Or something down to this rotten town
Where the mayor shrouds
The homeless sleeping on the ground
Around here we could sure use a sign
To let us know
That even though
We cannot go
There are some places
Where all these rivers
Eventually flow
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem