If coal could speak, it would not have conversations with you,
And Carrara marble would not follow you with its eyes.
But you are busy with a war,
You are shooting a thousand miles and a thousand years ahead.
And I 'll answer nothing
When I am asked
How the battle is going.
In modernistic dreams of a young janitor
You will be caught in a pipe.
And the arrogant virgins will tie you to a post.
And they will crown you with flowers and rush away with songs,
Forgetting in their run the very name of yours,
And no one here will ever remember you.
And when the Day of Silver comes
And the crystal of rock-crystal is clear,
And the one who's been running
Finally finds peace,
You'll stand out of the bowels of the earth cured,
Not knowing who you are.
I would like to be around
When the horseman holds out to you
The sheet yet untouched.
