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mélancolie, bleu il était
j'ai hérité le désert parce que mon âme est assoiffée
glooms des vivre-chênes
le merriment sans fin et idiot des étoiles
les drowses pâles de jour sur l'occidental trempent
il y a trois manières dont les hommes prennent
puisque j'ai senti le sens de la mort
aucune proie ne suis moi des pensées faibles
il y avait de trois dans le pré par le ruisseau
à certains les gros dieux

 



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