Spiral rainbow

One Day

I see the wrinkled Monday moon
Sunday has been forgotten soon
and again they are running wild inside
like waters of a roaring tide
so that I forget to sail
to the mother of the snail
and I cry :
who has stopped me?
who are they?
I will not ask why!
I still hope they die
but there is no end
there is always beginning
and there are always sent
there is no meaning
under the timeless tent
I still must be dreaming

but one day on a Sunday
I will set the waters on fire
and it should be soon
that I burn the moon
and drown my desire
in a heavenly bay