Alone, in a studio room,
constant chatter on the other side,
through the precipice…a door.
Just me and you, it's Tuesday morning
but I can't help but notice you've got bags under your eyes.
Did you get any sleep last night? I asked myself inside.
Yet still expecting a reply.
I was too scared to break the silence,
so I ventured for the pastels.
Turning back I see you holding your hands, like they're so cold.
Another enters posing questions in your immediate direction.
The same way I ask myself,
Is this a new song for an old friend?
I visualize an image in my head
where everything is simple,
and exactly how it should be.
But you could never think like me,
obsessive passions cloud your thoughts.
Rationale ceases to emit, raw emotion covering it.

SOUMETTRE LES CORRECTIONS