The light is nothing but a delicate bouquet of flowers
The sky a buzzing of green and gold flies
If it weren't for this Parisian pardessus we could dance
There is music on every floor as in paradise
A woman wearing the colors of the flag in patriotic lithographs
Escapes towards the east
Jamais je ne voudrais être son chien!
Better to cry with tenderness
At the miracle of people who rise anew each day
In this universal enigma they grab an almanac
And move on
They move on with the calm of cattle
Ah! we will die for having loved trifles too much
The slick aniline air soaks me like a shirt dipped in laundry blue
I see it all
The baccalà that samples Nirvana blossoming with tomatoes in sky-blue buckets
The shade of eaves lowered over the shutters' blue-green eyes
The shadows of men sinking
Into the transparent land
And suddenly I understand this axiom: Every new civilization is born from the laughter of children
The drum of the sun beats on the barber's mirror
To make me smile
No choice but to chase the cool hours of morning in silence
(My hair is a disaster!)
