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"You Won't Ever Again be in Love in a Foreign Country" by Ky Pacheco

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Indhold leveret af VOICEMAIL POEMS. Alt podcastindhold inklusive episoder, grafik og podcastbeskrivelser uploades og leveres direkte af VOICEMAIL POEMS eller deres podcastplatformspartner. Hvis du mener, at nogen bruger dit ophavsretligt beskyttede værk uden din tilladelse, kan du følge processen beskrevet her https://da.player.fm/legal.
It's a bus stop in South America And crossing five lanes of traffic At ten in the morning. It's quiet, More than we were expecting. The taxi is late for arrival and I am thankful for every second. It's not knowing the language And our tensions so high, A tennis court in my chest. Love was being rewritten in my head You were becoming the epitome of sacrifice. You asked me what I would answer if you pledged me to marry you. I said I’d wait a few years And that was the correct response. It’s a man in a bulletproof vest asking you the intention of your visit, To give her hope. We cross out of the city. There are dogs on rooftops, We are sharing headphones And the glass begins to fog in the humid jungle evening. Whatever home there is left I find it as I lay my head on your shoulder. There is a song humming subtly over the foreign soap opera on the TV. It’s not quite your taste But it is my favorite. You will be able to sleep on the plane And I won't ever again for the next two years. ————————————– Ky Pacheco called us from Flagstaff, AZ. voicemailpoems.org/submit/ facebook.com/voicemailpoems twitter.com/voicemailpoems instagram.com/voicemailpoems
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77 episoder

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Manage episode 449801170 series 1117673
Indhold leveret af VOICEMAIL POEMS. Alt podcastindhold inklusive episoder, grafik og podcastbeskrivelser uploades og leveres direkte af VOICEMAIL POEMS eller deres podcastplatformspartner. Hvis du mener, at nogen bruger dit ophavsretligt beskyttede værk uden din tilladelse, kan du følge processen beskrevet her https://da.player.fm/legal.
It's a bus stop in South America And crossing five lanes of traffic At ten in the morning. It's quiet, More than we were expecting. The taxi is late for arrival and I am thankful for every second. It's not knowing the language And our tensions so high, A tennis court in my chest. Love was being rewritten in my head You were becoming the epitome of sacrifice. You asked me what I would answer if you pledged me to marry you. I said I’d wait a few years And that was the correct response. It’s a man in a bulletproof vest asking you the intention of your visit, To give her hope. We cross out of the city. There are dogs on rooftops, We are sharing headphones And the glass begins to fog in the humid jungle evening. Whatever home there is left I find it as I lay my head on your shoulder. There is a song humming subtly over the foreign soap opera on the TV. It’s not quite your taste But it is my favorite. You will be able to sleep on the plane And I won't ever again for the next two years. ————————————– Ky Pacheco called us from Flagstaff, AZ. voicemailpoems.org/submit/ facebook.com/voicemailpoems twitter.com/voicemailpoems instagram.com/voicemailpoems
  continue reading

77 episoder

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