Anger and hope beat beat beat in my chest, and this is my song.
A glass is not clean, if you can still taste the soap.
We are the displaced
not only from where we came from, but also from where we ended up in, when we arrived
They don’t want us here
And don’t keep it a secret
They don’t demand integration, they want assimilation
How about doing escort, my cousin jokes. Or selling you used underwear anonymously in the internet, says his wife - and we start to fight. My mum says I just should marry a rich man. Maktub, I answer and pray to find my focus and to keep my wits.