… et rien ne me dit que demain je serai vivant
et rien ne me dit que je ne suis pas déjà mort
mais demain tout sera comme d’habitude
métro, boulot, dodo
- ségolène et sarko -
20 minutes,
I’ll take the road to the nearest town
to the next whiskey bar to the next saloon with dancing humans
and I’ll watch the landscape disappearing
like an aquarelle washed by the rain
blue mountains
I remember the old carrousel
From this old mining town
And the gipsy woman that gave herself to me
Only because I was down
I remember still very well the feel
Of her invisible body of
The ruins that count are not studied by any archaeology
They do not make people wonder and they
Do not put money in the pockets of the travelling agents
No, they are left outside the objective
It is too god damn freezing
And I am too god damn yellow to get out
I’d rather lay here under my piano
With this pile of books under my ass
Hating
Suit yourself, he said with a wicked
Marchons sur les ponts qui séparent l’abîme
Traînons et buvons, et parlons de rien
Philosophons sur la beauté ou le bien
Oublions un peu notre vide intime
Peut-être qu’on pourrait aussi
Sur ce pont dévasté, dans les nuits de Noël
J’ai vu un cortège blasé et triste
- Il y avait des carrousels et des chansons d’artistes
En sonnant dans la nuit paralysée par le gel
Sur les ponts
l’archange dans sa robe fastueuse, étherique,
son épée des flammes, son regard des flammes
sortait devant moi des murs grecs, doriques
- un feu brûlant parmi les pierres sans âmes
moi, j’ai
entre nous se trouvent toutes les autoroutes
où les gens ont des accidents mortels
en cherchant leurs amours
entre nous il y a une chaîne de cadavres
qui traînent invisibles, arrêtés
L’automne et l’hiver
Descendent tous deux
Il pleut, et il neige, -
Il neige, et il pleut.
Et la nuit descend
Malpropre et folle ;
Et des jaunes enfants
Sortent de l’école.
Les murs sont
It seemed to me I’ve seen her before
The cemetery looked different with her, like a french paysage
All the autumnal scents were broken
Wooden fences tracks lost between the graves
I was again
I stand near a broken fence
And the wind blows with leaves, wet –
I am uglier, I am hollow,
The cold begins to make the bottle sweat
On the street leaned downway
There’s an autumn like an old
At evening, through windows, a violet coppery cloud
On routes, the same hour, crouches an ironly rope
And coincidences on a singular gamut and loud
Today I fear again ... and I believe, and I
It’s autumn, it’s sough, it’s sleep
The trees, on the street are all sobbing
It’s coughing, it’s mourning, it’s void
It’s cold and it’s
There are dead men in town, my love
I came here to let you know, because
On the catafalque in town, in the heat
Slowly, the corpses decompose
The living move, but also decomposed
Their
Whether experiencing pedestrian filth
Or the sublime reversed depth of the beauty
I find myself always – a dead man on duty –
Wondering amongst you in silence and stealth
There’s always a
both autumn and winter
are jointly descending
it rains and it\'s snowing -
it snows and it\'s raining
the night also falls
so dirty and hollow
and children from school
return sick and