This dreary darkened sky
|
in which I float benumbed
|
into my Enola-gay filled with ambitions failed
|
and when it will collide with the towers of madness
|
I'll fall off to the ground
|
hope will flow out from my wounds
|
some unfit dog shall spell a tear of grief
|
|
Far at east, by the silky way
|
the mirage of a forgotten town rescuse me
|
in storms religions lost and empty sanctuaries
|
I let my body being slowly buries along other fools
|
|
To the silence we belong,
|
and the silence in this wilderness throve
|
the Via Crucis across the Dead Sea
|
then caught in Samarkand bazaar dream
|
|
No, don't search for me at North
|
where the nonsense of my frienzied notes lead
|
as now I am the Czar
|
|
In sleep I spread my veils
|
as day is much too harsh to sail
|
while dream are bright and manifold
|
|
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Distances
|
| Novembre |
