Got 3 months on my Schengen visa, then I’m going rogue,
When all of my accounts are frozen in the Eurozone.
Currency swaps in Monte Carlo, the nameless figure in the pueblo blanco.
Rogaining through Nordic uplands in the midnight sun.
In the Eurozone.
The Portuguese call it saudade,
That melancholy longing for a hopeless past.
Sensory pleasures, austerity measures
Misheard orders, unmanned borders.
Bagless in the lobby of the Hotel Belle Vue.
“We haven’t had that spirit here since Maastricht 92”.
In the Eurozone.
The Eurozone, yeah I’m into it.
If I can make it there, I can make it anywhere.
There’s no time like the right to retire from human interaction,
Like the soldier coming home, killed in action.
Roadside stops and service stations,
Toilet blocks – all the non-places
Where we wear our public faces,
Off the map the lost finger traces.
I only use burner phones, you cannot contact me.
I find myself in permanent sovereign uncertainty.
In the Eurozone.
The Eurozone, yeah I’m into it.
If I can make it there as a translator, I can make it anywhere.
There’s no time like the right to retire from human interaction,
Like the soldier coming home, killed in action.
I’m the poor white refugee from wealth and plenty.
Get a grip and dry your eyes
Don’t cry for me.
Just a beautiful jazzy rap album with buttery smooth flows versed with huge talent. It's not only lovely to the ears, but the lyrics are profound and empowering about the struggles that she faces. zhangtastic
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