We’ve got to gamble on taking a train ride because here they don’t sell map leaflets at stations.
Three years ago, broken-hearted,
I lived with a shorty with many tattoos.
A big picture of durian tattooed on her mons pubis itself was sexy.
The diamond in her nose ring was fake.
The nail polish on her little finger was cheap.
Not unusual to hear her speak with the F-word; she didn’t smoke, though.
When she’s in a good mood, she used to ask me with a little chuckle even on the phone
If I wanted to taste some durian seeds.
All these spiky tingling feelings she gave me were never fake.…
So never was that durian tattoo on her body; I remember quite well.
When I got off at a stop, the train picked up some people and moved on.
Now I miss that broad whenever I eat fleshy durians with big seeds.
(That’s how) we gamble on taking a train ride because they don’t sell map leaflets at stations here.
Trains are like chugga chugga choo choo, and then chugga chugga choo choo as always.