Rain all burned away The horseflies are an irridescent green Plums boiled down to a pulp Drying on a screen
Bright red air inside the house here I can barely draw breath Dark blue shapes pop behind my eyelids I am not afraid of death
And on the television Black and white footage of the young Cassius Clay My god, my god, my god He was something
Fists flashing as he comes toward the screen Sailing headlong into nothing And disappearing, reappearing Out there in the clearing
Floating down the slight breeze That plays along the edges of the leaves It's you, it's you It's youTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
