gmc

La musique a des invasions

En formes elliptiques

Danses qui s'exécutent

Au sabre ou au harpon

La musique est une implosion

Vanille sur satin

Parfum de coriandre

Pour enjoliver les cendres

La musique de l'absolution

Une ombre soulignée

Aux yeux sans fard

Ouverts en beauté

Drums in the soft

Machinegun or mandolin

I don't care

Deep diving

On top of the hair

Bottom of the stairs

Let's burn some fresh air

Floating ahead

Perfumes of mirror

Incense building ashes

Double-deck bus

Sharp as usual

Conversion or revolution

Which choice between the same

Redemption or return

I stay and burn

Meeting my name

Under icebergs of smoothness

And walls of tenderness

In a firebolt point

A love supreme
Don't need any Diana
Except for diving smoothly
Into mystery

In arms of silk
Thunder rises in pure wool
Spring invades summer
In tragedies of purple
As romantic as the green age

Building of pixels
Won't make a word fade
Look at those stairs in fire
Warriors are walking on

Keep an eye on the rock
A sword as a target
For no other goal
Than populating the desert
With some grains of sand
You will call yours

Try everything
Nothing is forbidden
Everything's free
At any price
You choose to pay

I'm just smiling
Cost very few
Only lips to stretch
To play the piercing sound
On which I'm tattoed

Be the harp
On which different
Will always be the same
But never identical
As all is moving
While everything's keeping still

The art of bullshit

Is sexy as hell

It's a game to play

With real bullets

Blood on the table

A knife between the teeth

The art of bullshit

Makes you turn crazy

A very good option

Much better than those reasonnable ways

That only appreciate

Their own domestic fears

Play me bullshit

Like a rose sing its smell

To angels who reply

With some barefoot stanzas

As hot as a virgin caress

On naked shoulders

So

My bullshit provider

How does it feel

To see one breath

Kissing your neck

Like a smiling dream

True as an eagle

Not far from a crow

The Blackfoot stands alone

In the middle of the turquoise ocean

Little Big Horn in intimacy

Memories of the wind

Are not made to last

Only to survive a bit

To shadows of the breeze

That are dreaming them

Qu'on me donne  du temps
Pour meubler un instant
De couleurs vives
Comme un chat angora
De saveurs pâles
Comme un accès de fièvre
La malaria ne passe pas
Elle oxygène de sang ebola
Les amateurs de virus
Qui n'ont pas besoin de ressort
Pour contempler l'imaginaire
En position assise