Tribal village

I carry the reverie of a German  soul

torn musicality made of mist and forest

where all roads  and dreams end ,

young poet madly in love  ,painful melody

you want to live  to die ...poor Werther !

Sometimes here, child of italy 

full of mercurial fantasy ! 

the girls of Milan have a scent of scala,

a glass of tuscany  dreams ,comedia del'arte ,

on a Campania beach I take  few steps with Fellini ...

Of the French  elegant ''Art de vivre '' 

I only  have, words, the clumsy Belgitude  

looking the heights of Notre Dame towers ,

 but Victor Hugo is an old beard ,

Tintin and the Goof are my  friends !

Boatman,sailing  up  Volga melody  ,

   vodka my comrade  !

To the west of the great wall ,

I'll find  my little tribal village ,

its well trimmed hedges  and flowery paths...

At sunrise my pastoral symphony  !