The voice you wait---
Lies in cemetery of your phone
In a grave---with open casket
You go there every night,
Without your legs in your mind;
To say something to gathered stones...
The road is in your thumb
The digits is in your head
All you need is just to dial...
Promise you plant still fruits
But I don't know if you've tasted it ---
It's bland. It's rugged. It's livid.