Riding through the wastelands of tomorrow,
inhabited by blind beasts like you and me,
a spirit with its ride spurred by the howling wind
might come and seek my tribute to the god of war.
Well I shall ask for my sight in return
and then, once I have seen the destruction
of my mother by me, I’ll let him have
my homage to the crimson locks of Mars.
.
.
Advertisements
