There are moments in life When man with his louse-ridden hair Casts wild staring looks At the green membranes of space: for he believes, he hears, somewhere ahead The wry hoots of a phantom He staggers and bows his head: what he has heard is the voice of his own conscience He is determined and alert And with the speed of a madman he rushes out Takes the first direction his wold state suggests And bounds over the rough plains of the wield But the yellow phantom never loses sight of him Chasing him with equal speed Sometimes on stormy nights When legions of winged octopi Which look like ravens at a distance Hover above the clouds... moving ponderously towards the cities of men, there, in the dark, their mission is to warn them.... On such nights the dark eyed grit, sees two beings passing by One after another and wiping a furtive tear of compassion: which flows out From its frozen eye It shouts out "yes, certainly he deserves it, it is only justice being done!" Having said that, he reassumes his grim attitude And continues to watch And continues... to watch, trembling nervously, the manhunt The phantom makes a clicking sound with its tongue as if to tell itself it's giving up the chase His is the voice of the condemned And when its dreadful shrieking penetrates the human heart Man would prefer to have death as his mom Than to have remorse as his son I have seen him making for the sea Climbing a jagged promontory Lashed by the eyebrow of the surge And flinging himself down, into the waves The miracle is this: the corpse reappeared the next day On the surface of the raging sea... Which had brought this flotsam of pale flesh back to the shore The man freed himself from his body's imprint in the sand He wrung the water from his drenched hair The man freed himself From his body's imprint in the sand... Wrung the water from his drenched hair And silently returned to the way of life Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
