And this guy lying on the nails screaming under the halberds
And this old Chinese woman pissing in the street three meters from the entrance to the Franprix
And the girl on the platform, black look, furrowed eyebrows
And the print characters, who treat us in turn like animals or like retards
And the lousy Cossack who transports his neighborhood house to neighborhood
And the chipper who damages his hands in the ice, under the cascades of blue neon lights
And the SAMU truck which brushes past us with all its might, with the breath of a locomotive
And the sirens
And the flashing lights
And the horns
And the tire alarms
And the 7 musics of the hell
And the hunchbacked mother of this old friend who has gone crazy
And these fragile friends who freak out
And him who doesn't want to understand that you could slap him with ideas that it would still not fit
And the other asshole who speaks too loudly, too badly who spends his time shitting on everyone
And he who can't find it because he's not looking
br/>And he who wants to break away, far away
And she who has a vague look
And he who cannot control his brain
And she who fell ill then that she had done nothing to anyone
And he has more vital momentum
Where is your rage? Where is the passion? Where did your six meter long rod go?
And she who understands her pussy more, because she got fucked too many times without being called back
And my head which still plays tricks on me
And I who struggle to take cover, who rub myself too close to the debris, who get lost too often in the Bermuda Triangle
br/>And the large glasses that I send myself on a regular basis, a beautiful sponge
And the smell of wood fire that sticks to my skin
And my head in the bucket this morning
And the battlefield, when I see us all scattered, broken into pieces
And we jerk off 24 hours a day
Then we flagellate ourselves because we jerk off
Then we say we do it and in fact we don't do it
So we say we don't and then we do it
Then we get tired
Then we apologize for being unhappy
Then for being happy
Then we apologize
Then it's a mess, that's it, that's it the shit
Keep digging, buddy, keep digging
And me who doubts, who messes around all the time
Who shakes in the handle
And my project, who me hurts sometimes
But damn, it wasn't planned like that
And the poor rhymes
And the dry orgasms
And the false promises
And the new faces of stupidity, made up like the Renault Traffic of the whores at the Caen station
And the madmen in three pieces, who should be unbolted
And the hearts that fly away
And the courage and the hope that we crush, finally that we try
And the beautiful things that we do everything to damage but this, It won't move, no
And mine who pick up
And mine who move forward
And mine who support me
And mine who I always join
And me who pushes, my voice, like a machete, like a slingshot, like a beacon, it is for my salvation

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