József Keresztesi: Sentimental Journey 

Let’s get going, the lights are harsh, over there, look, check out all those pics 

At the chemical plant crates of geraniums, deer in the rape fields, ears pricked 

In a sidecar a side of ham, garden gnomes in the mason’s yard, poplar trees 

Lorries parked by the access road, and over the hills come the cans of beans. 

Circus tent on the industrial estate, a blonde woman brushing the lama’s coat. 

The clown’s bleeding, the patrol’s heading over, the fire-eater’s pushing candy floss down his throat 

Up on the billboard a grave-looking grown-up, cottony clouds on his frowning brow: Vote for me! 

Lalalala- lalalalalala, lalala- lala – You cute little bumpkins, come and see! 

the train to Tiszalök might just wait 

the karma jam bubbles and thickens at a rate 

my sweet chick 

you stare out the window, let in the breeze 

where it’s taking you, you just can’t believe,  

nor what you see in the pics 

– nor what you see in the pics 

The banner snaps and flaps in the breeze: Lower Eden, come pick-your-own 

Red plastic bowl, puli dog on a chain, outside the Land Registry a Fiat cabrio 

On an old pram’s frame a heron tall and grey, it’s drawing its pension and won’t fly away 

In the thicket an Ikea mattress decays, a complex life  – cut with the plain  

Your forehead pressed against the cold glass, don’t say a word, just watch the pics 

Working girls rest by the fast-food shacks, outside, a beetle steps over sticks 

The bunny is cunning and carries a gun, on the road to Damascus the traffic is stuck 

A branch goes crack, a huge apple drops, watch out baby Newton, you’d better duck! 

the train to Tiszalök might just wait 

the karma jam bubbles and thickens at a rate 

my sweet chick 

you stare out the window, let in the breeze 

where it’s taking you, you just can’t believe  

nor what you see in the pics 

– nor what you see in the pics 

Let’s get going, the lights are harsh, over there, look, check out all those pics 

There in the coupe the man with the mustache unwraps his meat sandwich, gives it a lick 

His lips are moving, he’s shouting something, “Góliáth Dávid, there’s no such name”  

an old lady rips the shrink wrap from the Bible and loudly refutes this claim 

the train to Tiszalök might just wait 

the karma jam bubbles and thickens at a rate 

my sweet chick 

you stare out the window, let in the breeze 

where it’s taking you, you just can’t believe,  

nor what you see in the pics 

– nor what you see in the pics 

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