Where is the little house that was so colourful?
Why is the blue car, the one I use to dream about when I was a kid, completely destroyed?
Why is the beautiful lady in pink so sad?
Why does Billy, the candy boy, have tears in his eyes?
Why are the dogs so disturbed and aggressive?
Why is the sky so grey and dusty?
Why is my mom calling me?
Why isn’t she able to find her words?
Why is she crying?
Why is my dad calling me too?
Why is he so fucking loud
Why isn’t he calling me?
Why isn’t she calling me?
What happen to his house?
Why is he yelling?
Why is he crying
Where is his mother?
Was she inside?
What happen to all these faces?
Where are the smiles that usually light them up?
Are they coming back one day?
Why aren’t they smiling anymore?
Why am I still alive?
Why am I crying?
Why am I asking so many questions?
Shouldn’t I start to help?
Shouldn’t we all start to help?