Now, with the
passport that finally resembles you in middle age
You cross from one country into the nation of the ill
A description is what you need, but not all that you require
This despair is like something else in this wide world, but what?
You were mine once, but when was that, Gallicia, Poland
To say the name has come off the map barely describes this feeling of panic
In this life you also have a wife, and yes, her head is covered
Four hundred souls live in this village of transmigration.