Mud Grave

In the mud where rotting animals bloom
Urban honking
Echoes of someone hidden from sight saying
«This was our home.»
In the mud in the bed of the river at night
Echoes, echoes
In trains and traffic
«This was our home.»
Someone insistently stayed in this spot
Lying and bragging
The desperate promoters
Cold and alone
In the mud, at the end of the unknown world
All discovered
All forgotten
Cold and alone
And the white stag is looming
Above its mud grave
Shining, cursing
Built on bones