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à partir des prés riches avec du maïs
l'air est comme un papillon
de la chanson et du rêve pour jamais allé
les montagnes ils sont les gens silencieux
je ne brûle aucun encens
comment j'aidez vers la droite le monde qui tourne mal
j'ai aimé une femme
la femme a beaucoup manqué, comment vous appelez à moi, appel à moi
le roulement triste du tambour insonorisé a le battement
l'enfant qui a jeté la feuille après feuille
je l'aime

 



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