sickness grabs me by the hand   and the cramp in my left leg warns me   that if the nails of my hands are painted   with some blue polish from i don't know where   there is probably a lot of things that i should remember   or maybe not after all   and between the cramp in the morning and the falling   there is no space   and it is filled up with nightmares and they're all about you   and they're all about you   and an L-train full of hipsters is rushing towards me   and between the tight jeans and the second-hand scarves   and every baseball hat   there is a way to bump into you   and if they play my songs in the coffee store   after the e-mail and the laundry, they would be all about you   they would be all about you