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Cendre

Cendre

Published Sep 11, 2024 Updated Sep 11, 2024 Poetry and Songs
time 1 min
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Cendre

Le monde tombe sur mon cœur comme une pierre,

Le temps mange ma jeunesse comme un goinfre,

Les maux envenime mon sang comme un poison,

Je suis la génération des chagrins.

A quoi bon lutter dans ce brouillon, dans ce brouet de vie ?

A quoi bon ? pourtant,

Beaucoup d’oiseaux attendent

De sentir le vent se lever.

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