Midnight in France

Rome, Greece, London and Caledonia
A round of children was stirring,
The wind was chained in boredom
In Louisiana his spirit danced

Of his journeys there remain only pages
A few sentences jammed by his star
But the paper cannot serve us as veils,
And we face alone the sepulchral seconds

Behind us, flashy hotels are swinging
With them the vain hope of frightful parties
A child gently hums a mass
The earth shivers like a curtain of sand

The thunder has emerged from a white cloud
Muffled, the freshness of Saint-Malo
A woman observes gulls
Her dress is splayed with muslin

Hellish chiaroscuro on the beach
A hand on the hematoma of her eyes
She caresses the sand with a wise step
The granite becomes darkened with tears

The tomb of her brother sprinkled by the moon
Protects a half-God that the millennium disarms
Emanating from the vault, it heckles the misfortune
Men and the windows of the hotels break. His weapon

Evaporates, his silhouette is elusive, his legend insoluble
And the century placards our hearts wobbling with boredom,
While his star embarrasses our unhealthy cults,
Oh! creatures confused by a cursed present,

Our sick skies collapse, concerto of stupor
On the dark beach half revealed by incense
A cascade of beer comes to lick the color
The lips drunk with the future of teenagers

One sounds midnight on the fly on the Grand Bé
A din tears the ocean
The water reflects the ideal smile of a stranger
Whose grave empties itself for a moment

The granite of Lanhélin blue
The wrought iron railing
The cliff immersed in the skies
A spectrum dialogues with the sea

Midnight sinks into history

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