Here's shapes, here's colours, here's humans. Weak mortals, chained to the earth, Creatures of clay as frail as the foliage of the woods, Unfortunate race, whose life is but of darkness, As unreal as a shadow, The illusion of a dream. They were making a fool of him... His wings were crooked, out of control, He was down. Those sailor men were screaming and laughing. He was imprisonned, Struggling to escape from the waves that had tied him down , Like those Mariners floating over and over on their tiny boat, On an infinite ocean. He was exhausted. Only One of the sailors seemed moved by this sight, He was tenderly watching the last breath of a long journey. For a moment the eyes of the Mariner And those of the tired animal met. The look of a friend you know you will never see again, Just rest now and soon you'll be fine, thought the young man. Before the sea swallowed him, The Mariner saw the bird almost whispering to him. Those last words are still floating upon the morning breeze, Still whispering to the willing creatures. Those Words give wings to the mind and make men soar to heaven. As I fall, the wind will carry me on.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
