Dans un pub d'Amsterdam, sans marin qui boivent et qui reboivent ou qui dorment comme des oriflammes le long des berges mornes...
Cet été, plein de promesses tenues avec mon égérie préférée.
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A motorcycle functions entirely in accordance with the laws of reason, and a study of the art of motorcycle maintenance is really a miniature study of the art of rationality itself. -Robert Pirsig
LiveIreland.com
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I am of a dying breed
A son of thunder
Born from the wind
I am of the lost brotherhood
The one that never was
I live in a broken dream
My wings slowly bleeding
On a floor of clouds
So cry not for me
If winter touched my hair
Did he not leave tears of wisdom
On my face
Cry not for me
If I shall find my grave
On the winding roads I crave
If I’m not of age
As my soul is leaving
attached to a warm bullet
For I have no brother
A son of thunder
Born from the wind
I am of the lost brotherhood
The one that never was
I live in a broken dream
My wings slowly bleeding
On a floor of clouds
So cry not for me
If winter touched my hair
Did he not leave tears of wisdom
On my face
Cry not for me
If I shall find my grave
On the winding roads I crave
If I’m not of age
As my soul is leaving
attached to a warm bullet
For I have no brother
to sing with me
The songs I hear
As I ride alone
On roads going nowhere
The songs I hear
As I ride alone
On roads going nowhere
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