I say that the stars
thank the night
for, above another car,
they would not shine so nice.
And I say that is its fault
—moon's— the universe,
as it is the verses fault
there are nights and stars.
I say that there is none who grows
more than is worth
—and the fool who ignore that
is the one who take risks on stilts—;
and I say that the one who lends themself
for venom's peon
is double the fool and I do not want
to be a dancer at their party.
I say that there is no
mood clearer than going bare
because when you have got a shield
then you want the gloves.
And for who say to me to hold myself
under a robe
I fit to them a caravan
of big feelings.
I say that there is no other chant
than the one who comes out of the forest
and the one whoever comprehend it will be
fruit from the biggest tree.