My friend who {warms/washes}* his/her forehead with a mountain fire,
who washes his/her forehead with blood.
The maroon rose that smiles on your lips
shall be the revolt that stirs up my heart.
The silence that grows roaring
in your quiet chest,
one day, in my hand,
shall be the Mauser** that's ready to burst.
Rest your head on my shoulder.
Let me carry you in my chest.
Let my chest be the life for yours.