The more the night passes, the more beautiful I look. But who will call? When I stare at my face, hundreds of millions of people are in love.
The picture flashes in my mind. Who is dating me in the lighthouse in the southernmost part of the Persian Gulf? We don't have to actually meet.
Who is on the other side, looking at each other on the terrace, exchanging longings? You turn off the lights and I light a cigarette.
Separated by a piece of glass, separated by a city, I am talking to myself, passionately in love with you.
Meet in Ikebukuro. Meet in Antarctica. Or actually in this building at all.