The bars of the window have shaken:
The storm is rumbling; Traveller, it is time to stop dreaming,
The purple path of dreams has given way under our steps,
The sun splashes on every pine twig,
The moon unhooked by the gin-flavored morning,
Spits liquorish drops on the pale sidewalk,
This prison of words is a nightmare, we do it again every night,
At the edge of the sun, the light explodes our hearts,
You who know everything about me, I threw the key of your honor
In this jail of my tears, like the enchanter of Broceliande,
I let myself be captured by the shadows of your heart
A thousand questions haunted the clear sky this morning
I ran away from the fog of this city