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So you tell me
Go grab a grasshopper
Since when do you know who am I?,
Roared the old man with worked, broad shoulders,
And you never will, you little mother fucker.
As a tree has its rings,
the moment of your discrete appearance in this ugly,
Fucking world was the celebration of my seventh ring
I never really knew your mother, and certainly never saw you before with this eyes ready to be eaten by crow or vulture.
It does not bother me in my cauchemars,
As French people say for nightmare
I sleep the long night up with no problems.
So you tell me you are my son.
Welcome to the bastards dream!
You finally found me,
Although in any given moment,
In my given path have I done a move to avoid you.
Or towards your mother’s presence,
You finally catch the bad string of manhood
That gave origin to your unknown life...
Your heart must tell you also that are certain women you knew for a week or even a night,
That you’ll never ever forget for a day of the rest of your life's path, awakening,
Dreaming with her, sentient of her presence in a shadow, in a sent,
Or even in the smile of a elegant hore ,
An English teacher breasts while she crosses
Under your nose at the grocery store.
There are women you knew for ever.
And sometimes you fear the moment of knowing your son, although loved and missed him too, because the ominous presence of the women you sucked, fucked, kissed,
eventuality talked,
And ultimately revered and loved.
After all, she’s not just gone for real
Just like that
And now you have found me, go grab a grasshopper
And get the hell out of your fathers sight.
Go and let me remind HER presence around my neck once more,
As I do at dawn, as I wish at night!
