They are losing themselves in the streets of Tel Aviv,
they leave the country in ecstasy caravans;
shadow and light tear their bodies apart,
they spread out their hands to fend off the least breath,
their faces gape and their spirit is blowing.

They fix you with an eye, and their soul is in the eye,
and when they see that you see it
they cover themselves with darkness.
Neither buying nor selling, their presence is absence,
they shatter silently, straying without feet

far away from the dealers in slaves and in weapons,
blunted by pain, painful their bluntness,
quietly they drift up like dust from the land
to lose their way in the wastes of the galaxy.
If you know where they are,
you have to answer for their souls
and for yours.