Light bore on our hungry faces,
It is summer
and whilst I am driving, you are fast asleep.
Gentle fingers burn on the black tar steering wheel
and I flinch, squinting towards the Destination.
We praise the Sun with outstretched palms,
You had been so cold.
But still the anticipation of it had hung
long light arms hugging the muggy haze - my worry
was for my skin, pink and white.
Some of the fields we passed you missed.
They were yellow,
Maybe you might have stirred for something less.
We were silly, we didn't think to bring the map.
I thought you knew the way,
But you were not from here.
In waking you break steadily
turning your heavy neck to those fields.
'We're not even close are we?'
Your voice dampened dim by dreamt dealings
And I am transported into the distance and our Destination.
'Jennifer?' he says to me,
Now I am lost.
Bending, twisting, searching violent manouvres.
We've been silly,
I can't find my road, I can't find my Destination,
I've been silly - I didn't bring a map.
Who is Jennifer?
music.: De Usuahia a la Quiaca - Gustavo Santaolalla