Trouver la Liberté Si seulement j’étais un balbuzard, Je pouvais voler loin de moi. Toucher le ciel avec indifférence, Je pourrais aborder des horizons i…
I tore open the earth today; I tore it quite in twain, And looking miles below Saw sights I find hard to explain… There were things one might expect…
Three serpents writhing in the sea First maw, then tail rising agains… The waves, their movements had dis… Means for the creatures’ eager gle… Afar, they looked to us but one
Born too early to travel the stars… Born too late to explore the earth… I’m just in time to lay in bed, Waiting to die. Far too old to believe I have mea…
Everything is in its place, There’s nothing out of line. I hear screaming inside my head But everything is fine. The sky looks like a dewy gem,
Hello my little bearded friend, Why do you stand so still? What keeps you from your duties en… Denies you of free will? Silently you stand watch
I still recall hiding Beneath the blankets of my bed, Trying hard but failing To get your voice out of my head, While listening to you complain
A guitar strums a string Gelato rainbows glistening Rain in Lincoln square Pigeons on the wing Passerby’s are listening
I tuned into the screens Just to see what was going on. Yeah I turned on the media Just to glimpse what was going on. And from what I saw, yeah,
Imagine opening your eyes for what seems like the first time. Everything seems so blindingly white, as if it were the first flash of life to illuminate a world of silent darkness, as if...
When the devil rears his ugly face And takes you by surprise, And you stick around from sheer di… That good part of you dies. What do you know about the voices
The eagles flew against the sky ov… Constantly circling, awaiting the… And the men far below With grim faces aglow Looked up at the omen and began to…
When the shadow of night crosses y… And the stars cannot be seen, Do not indulge your mind in wrath, But in moments that have been. For when the shadow leaves
We walk down the street hand in hand. The gloom of a winter morning in mourning for its own naturality hangs about the hustle and bustle of the city; ever awake, ever moving, never chan...
I’m not doing so well, No I ain’t doing swell. It’d be something magic to get out… No I’m not doing so well. I’m not doing so great,