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