11 The Last Stand

Looking at the plain in front of my eyes
I can feel I will fly.
Over the meadow where all the birds sing
where the fog hides the hills.

Red horses galloping yard after yard
with the wind over their backs.
Wild cries are just coming from beyond the creek
and I think I could dream
while I load the last shot.
Will I live? Will I die the way an old bison dies?

Waves where you couldn’t imagine the sea.
Tell me why I’m still here.
There’s a black angel who asks for my soul.
He won’t be waiting longer
well, a deal is a deal.
Will I live? Will I die
the way an old bison dies?

Dear lady come and take my hand.
Forget the fear and we will dance.
I know this will be our last waltz.
And then I will leave like a breeze
so take my hand... 

Terra Crisium 2016 - 2018 · 11 The Last Stand