I tumbled straight into the house where theses were broken against each other,
Where entrails were torn out in the light in the name of feverish straightness.
It was quackery therapies and horse-dealer sincerity
And matriarchal coteries. I took my worries and battered.
We are sailing on stormy waters. An icy wind is blowing.
But the stars shine in the night, and the crew is not blind.
They closed and drew the curtains towards the street where the tone was raw.
Where people fought machines on a completely different spiritual level.
I spoke to them out there, they showed me their wounds.
Then they said, and glanced towards the house: That here able to dom not Understand.
We are sailing on stormy waters.....

SOUMETTRE LES CORRECTIONS