beautiful women will weep when i die - virgins and whores,
queens and paupers, women with fire in their eyes and women
with ice in their hearts - their breasts will be wet with warm tears and
the one crying hardest will dig my grave with a black spade.

what comes from, what flies home, a lost child, a cat killing
dragonfly, my blood asleep, the priest being paid, jesus
christ's quiet love; it's all so easy, there is no trouble
and that's what i will wish for - the ocean and it's fury:

steamengines and sailboats surround me now, and the rain
comes down hard as we firmly plant each step on the deck of
our petit bateau - we are without a compass, but wherever

we are is fine, as long as something beautiful's 'round; and she
holds a sitar in her right hand and i'm
cradling an
arab drum - two ghosts with noisy dreams on a stormy sunday.

Moi, j'avais jamais rien dit. Rien

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