Il Nostro Caro Angelo

The Lion's Den
It's still reality
It is impossible for us to get out of it
It's a false slogan

Our dear angel
It feeds on roots and then
He sleeps in the bushes under the trees
But he will never be a slave

Mirrors for larks
Uselessly on the ground, they now flash
Like prostitutes who sell at night
A cheerful basket of love, which is never love

Fear and alienation
And not what you say
The wrinkles are too centuries old now
You can't put makeup on them anymore

Our dear angel
He's young you know
The nets prevent him from flying openly
But he never gives up

And cathedrals darken
The white white wings no longer seem
But our aspirations filter through the darkness
Bright tracers point him to blue