my feet are ******* *****
a little bit of mud
a little bit of sand
a little bit of grass
I’m soaking them
in the sea of Tranquility

one box is from Portugal
one firm box from France
it’s just clinking
last two left

guardians of the boat
are having a break
sweat running down
of their faces
eyes hypnotized
and the wind
is like a paradise
of their grey hair

I’m slowly reading
a book by Bukowski
and I can see
sometimes
you got so alone at times
that it just makes sense
yeah
and three times yeah

secretely I’m watching
those saint guardians
drying their sweating foreheads
calloused hands
you can’t bet anymore

the sun is falling back
into a furiously quiet nothigness
of the Universe
and innocent souls of the guardians
are forgotten in irritant darkness

the first half of boxes goes to the shops
the next one
they are gonna drink
and early in the morning
the night is fulfiled
with a ***** daylight