Pigeons by Waltari
When the thousand white wing pigeons spread their wings
and raise to the brave rise towards the cloudless sky,
my faith for this lousy life starts to flame again
Pain seems to be so far away
Sane I will be drowned by the pure feelings, beatings
Hurtings seemed to be just history
I believe in life
The old paintings, faintings, the heat of makings makes me feel safe about the ratings
The smell of old knowledge stops all my senses
The wave doesn't call me, I'm a bit too far away
I've never seen the warmth you have in your hand
I've never seen the warmth you have in your hand
The crickets seem to like no tourists
Those purists of an intellectual way
flying around, running the day, make my day
What would you say if your corners would be full of drunken grey faces
Taste of "grace" (...and red wine)
Everywhere you go with your workful flow
Now go, serve those servants, feed their holiday
(...so this is the productive day!)
We pigeons will be fed by them who lead this way to its colourful fade
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