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je vois tous les esprits humains
un stylo d'acier
sous la lune de moisson
doucement maintenant la lumière du jour
remplacez la vision du plaisir
vous êtes clair
plantons
parmi la fumée et le brouillard d'un après-midi de décembre
son gris bascule toujours la tour au-dessus de la mer
ce qui était lui les moteurs dits
pour ces bras blancs au sujet de mon cou
elle a dit
par le pont grossier
j'aime les vieilles configurations melodious

 



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