Bruises to the soul, the heart in gray,
With only balm for my melancholy.
This day you are more left I know not where,
to unknown lands, gardens Andalusia. Who knows what tomorrow
, after the death
What remains to humans when life falls asleep ...
You have sung of love, life, liberty,
In the contours of the words that made us dream, Ta
France from ancient times, that of my youth, Who
without you is nothing, Such a soul that abandons.
The broom of Britain, the sweets of Provence,
Dreams of plenty to floral scents ...
rejection, the tumult, he packs foolish
Who today rejoice at the sound of nonsense, in Ardeche
Find the true meaning of things that no one
n'ébrèche and rejects Gnosticism.
A land of yesteryear where the ancient sages had long
live Parnassian ...
