Blue sky in this morning again
I get the word; Joy
What joy sufficient hath November felt?
What profit from the violet’s day of pain?
Je doute des nuages… les nuages qui passent... là-bas... là-bas... les merveilleux nuages!
They, les nuages, are free?
When we give them freedom, will they come out of their underage state?
Les nuages qui passent... là-bas... là-bas...
Who’s pain?
What pain does clear blue sky hide?