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e enquanto nós andamos a grama foi agitada fraca
flor branca da espuma, flor vermelha da flama
a noite era preta e drear
quando as horas do dia forem numeradas
dentro de minha mão eu prendo
tempestade
assim perdido
estourou o vinho feroz
sumário em uma noite do vôo
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
era uma oysterman novo alto
para prestar atenção o dia inteiro à onda azul ondular e quebrar

 



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