Pieros war You sleep buried in a wheat field its not the rose, its not the tulip watching on you from the shadow of ditches but its a thousand red poppies. Along the bedsides of my creek I want the silver pikes to swim downhill, not the soldiers bodies cradled by the stream. You said so, and it was winter and, like the others, towards hell you go sadly as the ones who must the wind spits snow on your face. Stop Piero, stop now, let the wind pass a little on you so that it brings you the voice of the dead in a battle who gave his life had a cross back. But you didnt hear it and time went on with the seasons with a dancing pace and you came to cross the frontier on a beautiful springtime day. And while you were marching with your soul on your shoulders you saw a man at the bottom of the valley who was in your same identical mood but his uniform was of a different colour Shoot him, Piero, shoot him now and after a shot, shoot him again until you see him lifeless fall down and cover his own blood And if I shoot on his forehead or on his heart hell have only time to die but Ill have time left to see see the eyes of a dying man And while you are giving him this thoughtfulness that one turns, sees you and gets afraid and, grabbing his gun he doesnt pay your courtesy back You fell to the ground without a moan and you noticed in a blink that your time wouldnt be enough to ask for forgiveness for every sin of yours. You fell to the ground without a moan and you noticed in a blink that your life was through that day and there would be no return. My Ninetta, to die on May you need so much, too much courage Beautiful Ninetta, straight to hell I had rather have gone this winter And as the wheat was listening to you inside your hands you held a gun inside your mouth you held words too icy to melt with the sun. You sleep buries in a wheat field its not the rose, its not the tulip watching on you from the shadow of ditches but its a thousand red poppies.
Posted on: Sat, 20 Sep 2014 18:10:01 +0000
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