The poetry has gone away
I suspect it passed by your place
Laid down in your bed
And listened to the rain on the roof
It had so little to confide
Not the type to spill too much, a few words
That it left on your desk
A few pen scratches
Then it went away
Then it went away

It took us a few days
To be less blind and deaf and to find
That the air was a bit heavier
Our shoulders a bit more hunched and to think
That after having announced so much
A departure postponed a thousand times, it dreams
To remove the coat from the hook
Where it had hung for centuries
Then it had gone away
Then it had gone away

Are we lost children?
The forest as far as the eye can see for the evening
Refuses to abandon us
To leave all power to the darkness
On our poorly engaged story
The full moon is summoned to thwart
The traps of a too dark night
On the outskirts of a slaughterhouse
Without a poem to save us
Without a poem to save us

I don't know why I thought
That it couldn't have gone away, without passing
By your place and on your desk
I saw the pen scratches, a few words
That slipped onto my skin
On your face and on your hands they took
The rhythm of a heart on borrowed time
And their skin was weak too
But we should hang on
But we should hang on

CONSULTER LES PAROLES ORIGINALES