Waiting for the silent men Watching the solar nights While in these mornings Sparkling drops of young spears Are falling from the trees... In the boulevard of light In the boulevard of light. Fresh waters and fountains Reappearing in the quiet zones Where is possible to rest Laying on the blue bed At the edge of heaven. And if in the night I cannot see anymore flights I can hear some distant screams Lost in the great obscurity; When fog is turning back From the front of a black war I am walkig near that river That leads me through the rain As the gates of the wasted bridge... As the gates of the wasted bridge... Night of echoes, missing faces Missing steps of missing men In a dream of grey old shadows Smoking cigarettes at last On the bridge of broken leaves. Smoking cigarettes with ghosts On the bridge of broken leaves.