The wind intruding on the peaceful disposition
The restless images are gladiators on the arena of dreamland
Fighting the trespassing monsters, occasionally stopping for a Breather, renewing efforts with a every roaring gust

What if I am really there , at the Coliseum
Sitting behind infamous Nero unbeknownst to him
The crowd roaring like a wind behind my window
With the each drop of blood, spilled on the ground

We love the blood, don't we?
Especially to see someone to suffer
It makes us better in comparison to them, the titillation
Nero bastard put his finger down for hungry masses clouding the minds

The lamp from faraway still glowing, lord have mercy
On souls of those I seen it in the dream wind brought from past
The violence is our shame, the our degradation
The wind..is blowing, swishing souls not mourned by the anyone

by Margaret Gudkov