Medicine - Million Dead

The day will come at a redrawing of the boundaries when Pilsudski will rear his

head in Iberia,

Because he’s been moving west for centuries,

Creeping every time that Mazzini turns in his grave.

And I have watched his drift with sallow skin and with longing for the western

coasts where he would lay his head and get well.

For he has caught a disease that makes him bleed when breathing.

They sent him south for the cure to the shores of the Starnbergersee.

So the day will come when I pack my things and move west into the setting sun,

Because my strength has failed,

I am fading.

So will you till my fields and will you tend my sheep until I get back,

Because I will be coming home,

My health restored.

And if Josef can lose himself in the dark of the continent then surely there

must be a way that I can cough up the last of the continent and lose myself.

Nineteenth Century science cannot soother my chest.

Staggering through Europe,

I keep on heading west.

My medicine is a setting sun.