Sleep buried in a wheat field
Is not rose, is not tulip
Sitting up with you from ditches shadow
But are a thousand of red poppies
Along my brook banks
I want that flow down silvered pikes
No more the soldiers bodies
Carried in its harms by the stream
So you said and it was in winter
And like the others towards hell
You go sad as who has to
The wind spits snow on your face
Stop Piero, stop right now
Let the wind pass a while through you
Bring you the voice of the dead in battle
Who gave life had a cross in change
But you didn’t hear it and time went by
Along with seasons at cubbyhole pace
And you came to cross the border
On a spring’s nice day
And while you marched with soul on your shoulders
You saw a man on the valley floor
Who was in the same your mood
But had a uniform of another color
Shoot him down Piero, shoot him right now
And after a shot shoot him again
Until you won’t see him bloodless
Falling to ground and covering his own blood
And if I’ll shoot him in forehead or through the heart
He has only the time for die
But to me remains the time to see
To see the eyes of a man who dies
And as you take these pains to him
That turns towards you, sees you and is afraid
And shouldered gunnery
He doesn’t return you the courtesy
You fell to ground without a whine
And you found out in one a while
That time wouldn’t be enough for you
To ask forgiveness for any sin
And you found out in one a while
That your life ended on that day
And there wouldn’t be throwback
My Ninetta to die in May
It needs many, too many guts
Nice Ninetta straight to hell
I should have preferred to go to it in winter
And as the wheat stayed to listen you
You held rifle into your hands
Into your mouth you tightened words
Too frozen to melt in the sun
Sleep buried in a wheat field
Is not rose, is not tulip
Sitting up with you from ditches shadow
But are a thousand of red poppies