The Goodnight Pig

The Goodnight Pig

When the pig is born in the foam of beer,
it runs though the valleys of the city, chewing on laundry

In the night of the pig sleeping, the beer foam flows endlessly

In the middle of the big city, under beer, the suicide body will not end
wet until the morning

In a forest mountain, beneath the birds, the suicide body holds a painful
tooth-ache

In the box of the television, the stars streak and the black laundry bows low

In the forest, beneath a grove, the pig sees the stars in the television box, and chews on laundry under the brilliant sky

The goodnight pig

We aren’t suspicious, our footprints won’t become stones

If we get drunk on the foam of beer, the desert holds our body free, the keys won’t stop

When the pig wakes in the foam of beer, the ladybug god won’t sink into the sea

goodnight pig

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