|
Dozens of man drove by the snake, |
|
who chose the sharpest sica |
|
to cut the wolf's throat in her sleep. |
|
But the snake won't be seen, can't be unseen... |
|
Terror servilis! |
|
The snake holds a friendly sword in his spites, |
|
from the hands of the fallen centurion. |
|
Those who slept on unawaken fires, |
|
will now much the land because of their weak desires... |
|
The snake holds a friendly sword in his spites, |
|
from the hands of the fallen centurion. |
|
Those who slept on unawaken fires, |
|
will now much the land because of their weak desires... |
|
Whose name in? But in the one of the lying god. |
|
Whose fate for? But for the thirsty hand who stole the sword. |
|
Reflections in puddles, |
|
in the middle of nowhere, |
|
surrounded by footsteps: |
|
endless runaway. |
|
Endless runaway. |
