This morn, this safar...
Is another journey to the calm,
Like a treading to the greenest
Like a cool breeze
On me skin,
Like a waking up on road thing...
And me packs up
as if my tent,
The motorbike there for me stands
And the road
Still running straight...
To the hills,
To that distant flowery heaven,
Where mist by the creamy golden
To make the journey till the last
Of another begin...
And my boots
For this morn
This creamy gold
me packs up
For the road still runs straight...