U brdima iznad Petropolisa nad kinim umama
Na cesti od crnog asfalta klizavoj od filma limunove praine
Uz stranu sunevog proplanka na vrhu pored menog kamena
Na rubu ponora koji svuda oko tebe propada u maglene oceane
Zaustavi svoj stari okrugli kamion boje neba na koje pie
Kaubojska parola: «Isus, i on je bio kamiondija»
ekaj dok prestane kripa i izdahne para i postane tiho
Zapali cigaretu povuci dim oprezno (zrak je rijedak)
I misli na mrtve, misli mrtve. |
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In the hills above Petropolis over the rain forests
On the black asphalt road slippery with a thin film of lemon dust
Along the sunny plain on top by the stone marker
At the verge of an abyss descending everywhere around you into the mist of oceans
Park your old round sky-coloured truck
With its gaucho decal: “Jesus was a truck driver too”
Wait until the engine dies down, steam disappears
And everything becomes quiet; light a cigarette and take a careful drag (for the air is thin)
And think of the dead, think of the dead.
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