A May night was falling
on the Lykavittos,
we were having dinner on your terrace
with all the Myths...
And above, the voice of Vasilis
from the roof,
he spoke, after long snores,
with Zeus and Athena.
And below, quenching with ouzo
the thirst of Dionysus,
we cried for the ellipsis
of History in the friezes
with tears of silent anger
in the face of the imposture
of those who made theft
their genius and figure...
And Athens in flames, and Athens in flames...
against a narcissistic and insolent West,
breaking into pieces...
Burning Athens
a Sometimes he dreams that he will be reborn from his ashes. br/>but of the troops
that march treading the ruins
of the intelligence
of the marble that is exposed to the elements
of decay.
And In dreams, we went to heaven
like Prometheus
in search of the Sacred Fire
Chaos and anger...
And so, a Small Column
of madmen and artists
they rose with fire in your Neighborhood
of the Anarchists.
And Athens in flames, and Athens in flames...

KORREKTUREN ÃœBERMITTELN