All is matter of scenery:

Change of bed or change of body.

No worry though, again it’s me,

Me who betrays myself to roam,

To crawl and spread myself away

And my shade undresses to stay

Into the same girls’ arms all day

Where I thought I would find a home.

Light heart, changing heart, heavy heart,

Time is too short for dreams to start.

Should I waste all my days apart

And apart all my nights around?

I always missed to love and vie

Wherever I would live or die,

Vanishing away like a cry,

Fading away like an odd sound

We were living through crazy times.

Songs had no meaning and no rhymes.

There were no punishment for crimes

And dogs and wolves were friends again.

The Earth was turning pole to pole.

Ditching underground like a mole

I was forgetting my true role,

Trying to understand in vain.

In a small street of Belleville,

Between an old bar and a mill

Was blossoming a daffodil

That was the breast of Marjolaine.

She was hearted like a swallow.

I used to lay down and follow

Her on a pathway to hollow

Within a violin complaint.

Grey clouds were darkening the sky.

Wild geese across not flying high

Were crying their invite to die.

They were passing over the streets.

I could see them through the window

And hearing their song, sad and slow

I was recalling with sorrow

A poem of William Butler Yeats.

She was brown haired and yet so pale.

Her song was of a nightingale

And in her daily fairy tale

She was giving her naked breast.

Her eyes as clear as a lily

She was working relentlessly

For a weird man from Italy

Who was granting her little rest.

Ogres are haunting the city

And night brings up the worst nasty.

Add some more make-up, Marjolie,

Soon you will leave without a word.

Another drink before you dive?

It was in April, around five,

At dawn, that in your heart alive

A monster deeply thrust his sword

Herve Sabattier - April 2018