In tribute to the Treasury
The fold of depondancy is jammed under the armpit
Of what must, at every moment, be confronted
The slightest loosening is seen darting out of fate
Of the expectorations of fate
Foul-mouthed, malicious, dishonest to the effort
The elements stand up in their omnipotence
The rope swings and waits
This is a fight of the adult area, I'm late
A fight feverishly renewed at each oversight
Forgetting the weight is unthinkable, what did you think?
The fatigue, indeed, the fatigue
Having to carry on one's collarbones
Always the same sequence of notes without knowing the key
The song is not welcome, nor the recklessness
Only the sigh will pave its place, in vain.