Madam\' Death set down her hourglass ,
somewhere on lost children\'s street .
A body, arms oustretched ,
seemed uterly astonished to wake up
in the void-open eyes of nothingness,
and the vibrant flight of a verdant fairy
with wings of sin, thief of venomous kisses...
Beneath the newbridge ,flow the troubled waters
of yesteryear ...
Companion ,at dawn\'s pale verge ,
the joyful bugle will sound calling you to duty !
You will rot under a winterly clad of earth
where the nettle of all forgetfulness flourish...
At vespers Lucifer will don the priest\'s robe
in the square of long bones ,
where the grass of the martyrs blossoms...
Tomorrow the war is welcome !
Satan will wear the funeral outfit of the carabiniere
to muzzle the poet\'s fevered nonsense !
Gentle troubadour of the old Paris ,
you won\'t make lover\'s dance anymore
to the weary gasp of your music box ...
Your name engraved on the memorial .
Street of the lost children ,
the midnight girls have come back
to sell their liquorice embraces
The war is over .
The serpent has put its president \'s suit .
street of the found children ,
Madam\' death is depressive and no longer seductive .
She feels nostalgic for the murky waters ,
now holidaying to the sands of Normandy ...