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Music: Mercy / Casanova

Words: Mercy

In these fevered days

I dream to use the waiting.

Westward a pitt-fall prevails

where softly fires are burning.

Laid by the windowpane,

my own interzone,

just watching trees and the leaves as they fall

from the fence to the wall:

it's my dying world!

In a dreamful slumber

I faded to grey

in a state of dismal despair,

eternal mind bounded

began to move

heaving dolorous again

in the year's shortest day.

Twilight enfolds thousand masques of pearl

burnin' slow to ash like my days

and when the living reflection is near

with its crush of emotional waves...

I sleep away

Of that so sweet imprisonment, the days

are fixed on pictures of you,

a shade covers smiles

on some nameless graves,

I lived the dread missin' you

(lookin fade the youth)

It's a winter's tale, the shadowed day

covers the wood with a smell of old hay,

under a reckless sky, across this ragged bound,

resigned to wait in my windshaken house.

I must lie still by my floating images

to legion of sleepers wellknown,

why should I care if a new dawn fades?

Effort of a new day must be drown'd,

no mercy shown!

In dream I fly over a big, golden sea

at the border between fate and waste,

the throng of the angels yet drowned in tears

begin remote music of spheres.

I'm no longer afraid.

Some flabby splashes of too mature things

wake me at the opening new day

but a dreamy voice from the kitchen repeat:

"It's night dear again and again,

it's the year's shortest day"