Gliding on ocean of ice through transfixed eye
open the mouth of the shark and drown in it,
the cloud on the mirror shows another landscape
where the motley animals abide.

Your beckoning sorrow in the furrows
where old weels passing by leave the essence
of foregone trolleys full of treasures
carrying floating faces down windy roads.

I shall take the fleece of the golden lion
and dressed in it walk through the desert
with only one song in my head
crazy as the woebegone madman,

i see the future in your hands
traced like those aery dunes
i see joy and sorrow mixed in cries
singing raging tunes

under those cloudy skies.

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