Think of me
when the sun will burn away
even the last of your dreams
think of me
when the moon will shine
on the last of your defeats
I remember in the shadow of poverty
the pride of a young boy
searching for the right ways
running among dust and cries
towards his way
the same one that now belongs to you
don't throw to the wind your story
Give it the time to be
Don't always turn back
Every time you do it
You loose an important part of you
follow the instinct
when it urges you
towards new stories
only give up when the game
threatens your hole existence
The roots you have inside
are a small part of history
I have lived, too
and those little smiles
a hundred years old
are now part of you
are now part of you
are now part of you
When the sky cries
soaking the undergrowth of society
real cradle of declared vices
making it the slimiest ever
men running away looking for cover
as if they were afraid
that it could melt
their faces all the same
of those too slow
only remain stripes of blood
which thinned by their own murderer
slowly disappear in black holes
of those too stupid
only remain the footprints
used as wedges under the doors
to let the speedy ones through