Playing With The Wind (Játék a széllel)
A sweeping wind soaking everything
And drying its time-bandages on my back.
I’m undecided between dream and reality.
Thought is treading with a planet pack.
The wind can start without being blown.
We have the ideal buried deep inside,
The Lord will save us from drowning in sin,
I can see hope on new hope crucified.
Smarting, dismembered, live memories.
They drip their sticky honey on my spirit,
They paint my black trails with starlight breeze.
The magic of sand projects me into space.
You could be my safe shelter. The wind
Brings you back, but you never reach my face.