Sin Noticias de Holanda

Sirens are heard in the background, on the trendy street
The wood behind a junkie, who's running naked
And he screams desperately: She shoots or there's no clothes

And everyone running after that poor devil
Who only makes his anxiety visible
And behind the crowd a comment was heard
That, along with the smell of that dive bar, made me remember...

That today the postman told me, there's no letter for me
Putting into question whether I would receive it
Because the letter from Holland doesn't enter the country well
They smell too much like plants, and there's a lot of vice here
And there's a lot of vice here,

And after several deliberations
And thinking it over, as I did
Why would I smoke weed from other nations
When I could plant my own in this country...

And there stood the poor junkie all bruised
from the beatings the cops gave him
And behind the crowd a comment was heard
That, along with the smell of that dive bar, made me remember

That today the postman told me...

And today the postman told me, there's no letter for me
With red eyes, laughing at me
Because the letter from Holland doesn't enter the country well
How can you be so mean, my plants are for me
My plants are for me.