Luiza, it's getting dark,

and if we want to eat tonight,

we'll have to brave the Casbah labyrinth.

He'll be there in one of the shadows,

and ask if I remember him.

I still remember his yellow teeth

and his grey old man face

for someone so young,

and all I want to do is keep walking.

Luiza, the pink walls feel like home already,

the men all look familiar and the women look the same,

and you know I don't want to be home, Luiza.

When I'm home it'll be over soon,

and every thing's white when I wake up

and my head feels like it goes on for miles around me

and everyone's far away behind the bandages.

Luiza, they've done something in my sleep and I'm not me.

But not yet.

Not yet because there's still saffron in the bazaar,

and saffron sand in the desert,

and the man who calls me Aurens and he'll wake me for the sunrise.

Not yet because there are Amish men in Belize growing sugar cane.

Not yet because of that old Spanish monastery where the light bleeds red on the dust.

Not yet because there's so much left to see.