Hajnali ima

Szinte mindenki aludt. Dante az Inocenti hangszerkészítő művek fantasztikus basszusgitárján pöttyögött és halkan énekelte a dalt, valahonnan a huszadik század végéről. Úgy érezte ennél jobb imát sehol sem találhatna Feníszhez, a Patrónushoz vagy akár magához istenhez.

It's not the red of the dying sun
The morning sheets' surprising stain
It's not the red of which we bleed
The red of cabernet savignon
A world of ruin all in vain

It's not that red
It's not that red
It's not that red

It's not as golden as Zeus's famous shower
It's doesn't, not at all, come from above
It's in the open but it doesn't get stolen

It's not that gold

It's not as golden as memory
Or the age of the same name

It's not that gold
It's not that gold
It's not that gold
It's not gold at all

I wish that would be our color
I wish this would be our color
I wish this would be our color
Our color, I wish