Buccolision / The Mistaken One, Part II (Geography Is Just a Symptom)
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Buccolision (part I)
A l'ombre du reflet de ce miroir ร angle obtus
Rรฉcolter la semence du plus beau de nos pendus
Des jeunes filles en fleurs ร foison de nos rรชves
De langueur et d'amour doucement sur nos lรจvres
A jamais couchรฉ sous des essaims de balles
Sans la sensation suppliciรจre de se sentir sale
L'optique par le trou pour l'iris blottit
Dรฉvisage sa victime par un regard meurtrit
Seule et frรชle aux accents exorbitรฉs et exsangues
Enivrรฉ des relents d'un indรฉsirable รฉtrange
en glandes exocrine aux exsudats malsains
qui le chรฉrit tout haut et le porte en son sein
Traduรงรฃo p/ Inglรชs: BUCCOLISION
Standing in the shadow of this obtuse-angled mirror's reflection
Harvesting the seeds of our prettiest hangman
Young girls in the prime of life galore, in our dreams
Of languor and love, on our lips, softly
Without the torturous sensation of filthiness
Optic through the hole where the iris huddles
Stares at its victim with heartbroken eyes
Drunk with the stale smell of an undesirable strangeness
Of exocrine glands and unhealthy exudations
Which cherishes it aloud and carries it in its womb.
The Mistaken One (Geography is Just a Sympton) (part II)
I am the mistaken one, once again.
And so is the ocean.
So is this ocean I have to fight, but we're not fighting in the same league.
All this seems so useless. So senseless.
I won't fight this time, tired to get insane.
Geography is just a symptom.
Five summers of a recurrent dance, on the rhythm of fear, anger and misunderstanding stopped harassing me.
A new season for sharks.
I know most of them, most of their habits but shadows of newcomers are getting closer.
Nevermind potential bites, I'll keep on swimming.
A new season for a dive.
Determined to hit rock bottom, escaping waves and streams.
Consciously.
I am the mistaken one, once again, embracing the ocean.
Kissing you for a last breath.
Kissing you for a lost dream.