Christianhavn, by night

The open hood, in Chistianshavn
My second-hand lambhorgini goes up in smoke
A woman gives me a black look
The moon does a show in the burning sky

The sun nudges me.
I’m looking for a mechanic, please
In the middle of Copenhagen
A bicycle rolls in a puddle of oil

Flowers dance in their earthen setting
A fresco on the wall flakes, the evening sways,
A singer with dull sunglasses
Is crying out in a bar in the neighborhood

The ghosts of the Museum for Kunst
Have surrounded my racing car
And transported it to hell
I hear a demon howling with laughter

His laughter comes from the bowels of time;
It tears the burning curtain of the sky
And falls in cool droplets of water
On my sweat-soaked forehead

I’m looking for a mechanic, give me his address,
I am drowned in the light of Denmark
My second-hand lamborghini goes up in smoke
The young girls with their hands in front of their eyes

The bright and flowery dress
Walk before me on Prinsessegade
I shout to the sky
A prayer escaped from my black heart

My car mixes with the fumes of the factories
The sky leaves in a shred of black smoke
And the evening falls on the Loppen club
Closed since 1973

I enter a room full of people
Stroboscopes shoot the humid air
I throw the keys of my car in smoke
Over the forgotten crystal glasses

And I dance a rock mixed with salsa
With the most beautiful girl ghost in the club
My sweat mixes with her smiles
I’ve found peace in fainted Copenhagen

The night takes me in its naked arms
I take my light-footed dancer
To slow dance in front of Christians Kirke
The church overlooks our universe

A magpie escapes from a broken window
And my protégée runs away from me
I am alone in Copenhagen
My car is gone in smoke

I’m slow dancing with the rainy night
And my shirt is tinged with moisture
I am alone in Copenhagen
The stars are my confidants

I abandoned near a pale streetlight
The damned sparks of my soul
And I dance slowly, caught by the night
In front of the Copenhagen Opera House

The laughing magpies join me
They imitate my jerky steps
Releasing white feathers in the air
My car is gone in smoke

And the night disappears in an immaculate ballet
It pushes me violently in the back
Until the early hours of the morning
It propels me to the next day

The keys of my car are gone
I am alone, lost, in front of the Opera
And the night lets go of my hand
I’m going home whistling the moon

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