The Endless Runaway

Dozens of man drove by the snake,
who chose the sharpest sica
to cut the wolf’s throat in her sleep.
But the snake won’t be seen, can’t be unseen…
Terror servilis!
The snake holds a friendly sword in his spites,
from the hands of the fallen centurion.
Those who slept on unawaken fires,
will now much the land because of their weak desires…
The snake holds a friendly sword in his spites,
from the hands of the fallen centurion.
Those who slept on unawaken fires,
will now much the land because of their weak desires…
Whose name in? But in the one of the lying god.
Whose fate for? But for the thirsty hand who stole the sword.
Reflections in puddles,
in the middle of nowhere,
surrounded by footsteps:
endless runaway.
Endless runaway.