Alpinistes-samurais

A cigarette, a latte,
Not topics of great density, fans spin.
A personal foul, so many casualties on my couch,
One thousand one hundred fifty condoms.
Alpinist-samurais, weirder things must happen to us.
Who could answer me how a day is just about to end.
A beginning of season, phone booths,
I was talking to the answering machine.
An indication of the end, bad forecasts to calculate.
Who could answer me how a day is just about to end.
And an angel spreads its wings and fills the sky with light,
And a satellite bolt crosses landscapes
And boxes of markers.
The flowers fade from the trees and the waves lose them completely,
The dawns dress the pure material
Of the construction guild.
A photo, springs, we increase the level of expulsions,
You drink water from my griffins.