The road is made of dust,
and gravel,
and packed ground,
it paints grey smears
on the hair.
And from the paths in heaven
it carries a jewel,
bound by rock.
And the feathers of desire
from the wings of Pegasi [1]
The road is like a whip.
It is bad,
as a street woman.
She has tags in her hand, [2]
and tinfoil over her waist.
And her eyes flare with lust,
when she throws to the unknown,
two fragile petals
of red gladioli. [3]
[Ref:]
Sergeant! The sand is white,
as the arms of Danielle [4]
Wait some more!
My eyes have seen,
that terrible old
moment of abandon.
Sergeant! They will salute us,
and we will be initiated.
Morituri te Salutant!
Morituri te Salutant! [5]
I carried on,
walking that road,
where whirls,
by the ripples of wind:
a single wing of a dove [6]
And marching song of
cannons sounded,
bringing the fluff
that kills.
The road is made of tar and dust
and packed ground.
The brass bee
from the werewolf. [7]
Rusty rifle -
my old brother,
and hundred year old dirt,
and abysmal, gigantic, white clouds.
[Ref:]
Sergeant! The sand is white,
as the arms of Danielle
Wait some more!
My eyes have seen,
that terrible old
moment of abandon.
Sergeant! They will salute us,
and we will be initiated.
Morituri te Salutant!
Morituri te Salutant!