I’ll take the road to the nearest town
to the next whiskey bar to the next saloon with dancing humans
and I’ll watch the landscape disappearing
like an aquarelle washed by the rain
blue mountains mixed with violet skies
and coppery leaves beneath the robust trees
I’ll watch the son trembling in the red air
vaporising in the choking heat
and then I’ll mingle with the moving corpses
and I’ll be a moving corpse
and I’ll for once be dancing before I die