Backpacker Blues

At the end of this weary travel I must let my thoughts unravel Like folded clothes on a bunkbed Since there's nowhere else to go ahead Drag yourself in the common room It's dead quiet, just like a tomb Go rest your head in the middle seat Where nothing seems to be concrete You barely notice your surroundings When your head is still pounding In the rhythm of the Backpacker Blues Grace is fixing up some breakfast Her default expression is downcast But she mixes her personal truths With a tall glass of Vermouth Layla's counting the stripes on her shirt I want to tell her, but she might get hurt As she taps the black and green in a row That their number is all she'll ever know And as expected, they're both mumbling Even in their burn-out stumbling The sickly notes of The Backpacker Blues I crawled to the empty reception Feeling like I got an injection Meant for a behemoth's brain After experiencing eternal bane Saskia answered at the fifth ding Her hand had a lighter shaped as a ring She speaks like metal bars being twist I ran away but I think I got the gist "You better rush out hurrying Down, up, and out scurrying On the tones of The Backpacker Blues" Well, I got to the nearest light rail Hoping to arrive at the easiest trail But the tram is full of angels on dispatch To fight Ophanims on a football match Oh, they have no Idea of what I did To the statues and calendars that I got rid When I wrecked their houses yesterday For a part time job that went sideways And with my fingers, I carry on drumming In this clamour, I keep humming The melody of the Backpacker Blues I hopped off before my destination I'd rather walk to my desired location Losing the scant patience that I have left Like a filled paper cup with a cleft But the funfair at the end is closed Where roller coasters on pyramids are exposed Another trip that turned out to be a flop Shouldn't have believed in the girl in the rooftop As I see my chance disappearing Despite all the time spent persevering I console myself with the Backpacker Blues I take a shortcut through the city park The hostel staff there is like a landmark They sit in a circle, cheerful and serene Pretending to be what they've never been Rosie and James, who hadn't got a clue On how long it took to light themselves anew They clashed for hours on who got to be the vassal Of a spacious and acclaimed bouncy castle As they jolt and fall, giggling I recoil at their joyous wriggling Whistling the Backpacker Blues Back to the place where I started I can't help but get half-hearted Even if I'm invited to the happy hour I don't think I could be any more dour At least they took Benny away from the couch He clung to his bedroll like a joey in a pouch Nourished from soda, movies, and snacks He felt like a monk with the semblance of wax But he was seized one cool morning Unstuck from his shell without warning As I was lulled by the Backpacker Blues Oh, tonight they're offering pitchers of grog They feel like needles of a hedgehog I'll just get a couple of the last beers Since I'm not holding onto anything too dear Not the shots being fired at our throats Not the performances of which we all gloat Just this flotsam-like state of being That kills all that is remotely freeing As my vision is blurring My travel back is incurring In the turmoil of the Backpacker Blues