I opened the old grimoire of memory.
On a mysterious writing
rests the withered flower of melancholy...
I was twenty years sold ,
my loves already dying
under a shivering sun ...
Derisory oaths from a harvest of white hair
at the time of the last farewell
Placing a absent-minded kiss
on your golden fields...
From the pages of the old grimoire ,
nocturnal butterflies who dreamed
of being angels , fly away,
forgetting the lyrics of the operetta...
Sometimes, I go back to the ancient adresses ,
waiting you at the \'\' Bar du rendez-vous ! \'\'
It was an unreasonable time ,
where clocks gone mad ...
Beneath the cobblestone there was the sand ,
and poetry smelled a pinch of folly !
The azure sky was red with a hint of rust...
Under your light fabric ,the flash of a small nipple
that I was shaping in my hands ...
The instants are so far away,that they blend
with the next day ...
I happen to run into this child that fate denied ,
expecting ,all hunched, the frosted tramline
that leads to life...It was a lie .
On naked avenue, souls ,shrouded in winter\'s veil .
The \'\'Bar du rendez-vous \'\' Has sealed its eyelids
for a short forever .
On the ground I picked up a pretty angel feathers .
To the ashes of the old grimoire, warming my misery ...