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I took a picture of a fountain. Walked away instead of counting all the hours I had left before I had to go. Walking wanton a desperate city and the subway's cold and filthy but the homeless men are not aggressive. But I'm still afraid of them because I can't understand the cold and the language that he speaks is not as foreign as the way I treat him. Thousands of miles in one direction just to toy with my affection. Emotional wayside will, I'm ill and I want to go. I slept on the streets of London. Thought I had a friend in London. Until the bright lights woke me up and I'm still here. But I'm not afraid of him because I can understand the cold. And the language that he speaks is not as foreign as the way he treats me. Oh, and I want to go home. From Letras Mania