Million Dead
Medicine
The day will come at a redrawing of the boundaries when Pilsudski will rear his head in Iberia, Because he's been moving west for centuries, Creeping every time that Mazzini turns in his grave. And I have watched his drift with sallow skin and with longing for the western coasts where he would lay his head and get well. For he has caught a disease that makes him bleed when breathing. They sent him south for the cure to the shores of the Starnbergersee. So the day will come when I pack my things and move west into the setting sun, Because my strength has failed, I am fading. So will you till my fields and will you tend my sheep until I get back,
Because I will be coming home, My health restored. And if Josef can lose himself in the dark of the continent then surely there must be a way that I can cough up the last of the continent and lose myself. Nineteenth Century science cannot soother my chest. Staggering through Europe, I keep on heading west. My medicine is a setting sun.
From Letras Mania