I have been a vagabond, I have been hopeless
Your golden figure, I saw it in the morning’s threads
Policemen help me recover, I was bathing in your perfume
I am but an artist’s soul, every looming bird is a new poetry
Your autumnal eyes have colored the leaves of my world
I have lost my adress, my weapons, I abandoned my toys
I diluted the steel of my soul in the stormy winds of the night
Love is an accident crafted in the Devil’s workshop