While travelling through New York there is so much to see But I am solely concerned with making sense of this key It’s what my dad would have wanted—to take on this last quest There are 472 Blacks in New York but I will give it my best It is a complicated puzzle, this key in my hand But I must do this alone, Mom surely won’t understand Why doesn’t Mom cry? It’s like she’s not even sad It seems like I’m the only one who still misses Dad When I think about the missed calls, it hurts just like a knife I think I’ll wear Heavy Boots for the rest of my life What if our pillows could collect all our tears? And fill them in a reservoir for years and years? Or what about a skyscraper that could move up and down real fast? So everyone would be safe even after the first plane had crashed What if we could go back, rewind, and press play? We would’ve been safe. We would’ve been okay.
Oskar