Superclone – Michel Montecrossa

Superclone walked into the room,
a colored man wearin’ a silver suit.
The hotel was next to the Indian road.
The bartender smiled, he knew his job

“I went to war and now I come home”,
Superclone said with a voice forlorn.
He ordered something, a whiskey I guess,
looked at the sky, turned to the steps.

“I’ve seen it all, now I want to see you”,
he spoke to himself, she was twenty too.
From papers he knew her all the way,
liked her pictures, wanted to stay.

He remembered the men killed that day.
They come to him every now and then.
They had no lasers but knew how to fight.
But the day was dark and they had no light.

The whole story he couldn’t tell,
too close it brought him to the gates of hell.
Superclone was a captain, down on the road.
He stood out there as the army approached.

Superclones can be relied on in war.
The places were bloody where he had fought.
September storms touched deep his core
when he escaped the danger, crashed through the door.

Superclones feel like ordinary men.
They don’t have parents but know all the pain
of bein’ born and cheated again and again.
He wasn’t armed now, just looked at the rain.

Superclone came past people watchin’,
thinkin’: “What are you waitin’ for?”
He picked up the whiskey from the tray,
crossed the room and came to her.

Superclone after a moment said:
“Tell me girl and tell it straight,
why do they think that war is great?”
She said: “They don’t think, they just escape.”

Superclone stood with her in the room,
a colored man with a silver suit.
The hotel was next to the Indian road.
The bartender nodded and did his job.

Superclones can be relied on in love.
The place are loaded when they approach.
A September storm touched deep his core.
He escaped with her, broke through the wall.