Theres a breathing hole in the sky,
A lost, misunderstood species
In the hole called Earth that denies
Instincts unchained, shaking hands,
Declaring the month of death
And the years of sear summers,
While ones smiling on a picture
An other praise tainted nothingness
As mother, father, false symbols of life.
From the cave doll-angels came to war,
To show how Heaven looks like in the oil,
In their minds knowing our Heavens doors
Burning as their flood infects The Sacred Soil.
Celebrate the words of our kind of freedom,
Kept secret and safe by memories,
Waiting on the doorstep since ninety-two
Of the fifteenth centurian cradle of bravery.
we own our divine force to hold
our God on his armed throne
and you wish that we were there
where sand and traditions stare,
we know your holes of rats and
how to fire insects till all hopes fade,
and the white doors open for the heretic
suffocating in this dying tiranny,
never tried to be-like us-so free,
never tried to be, never tried to be
Dear dog-saints, lead us on the path
To the only one we can be,
Lost dog-days rise now with the sun,
Memorias des Toten Madre: Ave. See. |
