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Second daye

Second day of the life in Antiterra
And the cowards still mourn the first day
But I keep safe my sharp night coming to day
And from the ground I count a sparkle to the sky
 
Far from the mutened rage and soundless pulses,
the hearts sunken in despair (and all you can imagine),
some sealed memory makes me tight my fists
like a seed dreaming under the snow.
I can recall how I wasted a whole youth
like a sip or just like that first day
and that i didn't stand next to my security
and with my back turned on the sun watchin only my shadow.
 
Luckily I shared and went deeper than my words
and the roots brought fire to my legs.
What a nice sinking! The earth as mother wished to hide me
and i became the uncanny that fills you up with sorrow.
And i started catching storms in my nets
and sleeping only in my mist,
killing still young my songs on my lips
so they could live in the hearts as my friends.
On the other side – I've always wanted something to change
cuz some used to measure me by my lesser deed.
But one good or bad deed brings along a million ones,
as many times i saw the ebb, I saw the tide as well
Every winter I denied spring and she wasn't mad at me·
i was late a little – she always waited
to wish me the most beautiful and to hold on tight,
coz the lie quenches its thirst on stagnant water.
Second day of life with no fright
and listen to how them cowards mourn the first of days.
But inside me i lock the breeze of dawn
and from the soil I measure an inch of sky.
 
The first day was pretty in antiterra
but the second, definitely brings some fresh air.
And so I leave the window open towards the east
to light my cell of oblivion.
And there's a chance the flies to find their time
To say, nevermind, everything has their secret purpose
Valiant laws, old and eternal, solid
And we are whole in front of the reckoning
MIracles of every day, beautiful things -think·
think of the extend of passion that'll throw away the ageing.
Shameless visions on capital words
and for our fur noone has the stitches.
Blasphemy became the weaver of our speech
and we certainly head straight on our way.
And if life let us go before the finish line,
we'll be reborn in the fire by some mother.
 


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