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n'accrochez aucune guirlande
je me tiens par temps gris froid
il y a trois manières dont les hommes prennent
là par la fenêtre dans la vieille maison
sans aucun doute je me rappelle toujours
le ciel
je suis dans l'amour avec les endroits prévoyants élevés
le poing serré simple soulevé et préparent
parmi la fumée et le brouillard d'un après-midi de décembre
j'ai vu que vous hunched et tremblant sur les pierres

 



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