The True Officer

The True Officer

Yellow sands of the desert we swallow you in the evening,

We taste you at lunchtime; we eat you in the morning,

We inhale you in the night-

We cough and we gasp.

We long for a fast death without any pain

An officer in a tent, he clings to his pencil and writes

He writes in the deserts night to his children

-I will be home for Christmas-

He writes it and then leaves the tent all alone

And he watches the same golden moon

He calls for his soldiers and he cleans his weapon

And he orders the next deadly attack

Then he concedes the soldiers to dance. 

Yellow sands of the desert we swallow you in the evening,

We taste you at lunchtime; we eat you in the morning,

We inhale you in the night-

We cough and we gasp.

We long for a fast death without any pain.

An officer in a tent, he clings to his pencil and writes

He writes in the deserts night to his children

-I will be home for Christmas-

He gets drunk and he celebrates

Lets the soldiers clean the tanks

And the music is gentle playing

Before their last fight to death 

Yellow sands of the desert we swallow you in the evening,

We taste you at lunchtime; we eat you in the morning,

We inhale you in the night-

We cough and we gasp.

An officer in a tent, he clings to his pencil and writes

The diary of his first real war

About the weapons so deadly

And the collateral damages of the day

He writes in the deserts night to his children

-I will be home for Christmas-

An impact in the dessert only few miles away

And ten guards die from hostile fire

The music fades into a cry

While the officer in his tent dreams from victory

And he smiles-

Yellow sands of the desert we swallow you in the evening,

We taste you at lunchtime; we eat you in the morning,

We inhale you in the night-

We cough and we gasp.

An officer in a tent, he clings to his pencil and writes

The diary of his first real war

About the weapons so deadly

And the collateral damages of the day

About careless unable soldiers

And his innocent and pure conscience

He writes in the deserts night to his children

-I will be home for Christmas-