St Petersburg (1)

I look for a sliver of rose in the ice of St Petersburg
The reflection of a ghost, the inaccessible star
A tsar pressed my hand. He whispered music to me
I still hear it from my cloud of hot wax

I look for the howling of the bears in the middle of the crowd
An oil well burns in the opaque desert
The Nevski perspective is waving under the heat
I am looking for a burst of rose in the middle of the summer

The ice of St Petersburg is a dark mirage
A dream that I make a hundred times looking for your glance
In the mists of water of life that stink of death
And I walk quietly, pursued by the hours

I look for the sun in an icy winter
Russia has taken my heart and shown it to the beasts
The night is agitated under an insensitive firmament
I seek the ghost of the past, the inaccessible star

A ship strolls on the Griboïedov canal
The illuminated bridge lets our dirty heads pass
The quay has a festive air, a nonchalant look
The stars parade in their worldly finery

I still have a few hours to spend in this city
Looking for a ghost to howl like a bear
The mafia turns away, I look like a demented angel
I’m looking for the southern star, the inaccessible torment

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