Max Yasgur's farm
August and flowers from mud
Do you prefer
braziers on the moon
or stars in the puddle?
I ask the dove on the guitar
Always and anyhow both
hopping
And why does Jim, try to remind napalm and civilisation,
while the WolfWagen shout
pastes the horizon on music?
Simple,
gap and riff,
age-old trick
yeah-yeah
cymbals bud from the sound fracture-
And so
she dances, dances silent and white
and her chirp will be rumble
"you are cosmic, baby"
says my eye
after and before
I die
Then a usual new generation. Copyright © 2010 Gianmarco
Galuppo
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