Step by step,   
 from trip to trip,   
 in the arena of a circus   
 where the wheel turns    
 the rumor lifts the velvet curtains.   
  
 colorful entrance,   
 noisy barnum,   
 raised dust   
 of the animal procession   
 the passions of the soul   
 raised to the pinnacles of the temples   
 dismantle   
 la lente construction de la raison.  
      
 Of blood and colors,   
 the furious cries of the Erinyes   
 have destroyed the landscapes of childhood ;  
 the clay lips of springs    
 have made way   
 with cement nozzles,   
 the stone of the protections has been torn out,   
 the hedges have been cut down,   
 filled ditches,   
 the silver fox   
 ne trouvera plus le centre des offices, 
 an evil wind blows the lumps of earth   
 towards the dry stone terraces,   
 an old ash tree whispers its last dispositions.     

 The night coos,   
 soul pigeons   
 overhanging   
 breaches of the human condition ;  
 populist lies   
 replace the song of the poets,   
 the tracks of war engines   
 follow the iron shoes of the hairy,   
 the sky is darkening,   
 even the trees sculpted by the west wind   
 lay down in the storm. 
    
 The air is foul,   
 against the wailing wall   
 the papers of envy   
 crumpled and forced   
 at the joints of the stones   
 covered in lichens   
 become panting flesh   
 of a random tzimtzum.   
   
 emaciated hands,   
 out of the pockets to match   
 scratch oblivion ;   
 rolling eyes   
 clip the values ​​of the spirit,   
 sulfur cream   
 made up with a clown's smile,  
 nos errances dernières sont à portée des crocs.  
   
 The fury takes over   
 at night,   
 in silence,   
 made ugly by the passions of the soul   
 fights and hatreds ;   
 dappled by lifting   
 new harvests,      
 annonciatrices des renaissances à venir.  
    
 There is officinal herbs   
 than those of spring,   
 collegiate herbs    
 of lovers' kiss    
 scattered    
 in search of the great upheaval,   
 a piece of bread   
 at the bottom of the bag,  
 l'eau dans le creux de la main. 
    
 Nous entendrons le son des ricochets,    
 pebbles thrown on the river,   
 accessible to asylum seekers,   
 en sortie d'exil.  
   
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