We will have bread
Golden like the girls
Under the golden suns
We will have wine
The one that sparkles
Even when asleep
We will have blood
Inside our white veins
And most often
Monday will be Sunday
But then our age
Will be the golden age
We will have beds
Curvaceously carved 1
In the fine sand
We will have fruit
The same ones we scrump
In the neighbouring field
We will have for sure
Inside our dull houses
All the pecks of blue
That promenade above
But then our age
Will be the golden age
We will have the sea
Two steps from the star
On windy days
We will have winter
With a cicada
In its white hair
We will have love
Within all our problems
And all conversations
Will finish with “I love you”
Come, so come
Come the golden age
1. Shaped like the hollows of a girl's back