The sky was blue as plastic, and the sun beat down razorblades
On the heads of the beasts who prowled the street in summer clothes.
Like holy incense, there rose from the melting streets a haze
That curled and wrapped itself around public benches and princes’ thrones
And that drowned out the light like water. Back then, in those dog days
There was a girl amidst the sweating monsters whose toes
Never touched the ground long enough to be burned.
She dripped holy water rather than sweat, and her shadow
Was diaphanous against the ground. Her eyes were like the ocean,
Deep and restless and brilliant, and her hair was white as snow.
Amidst the static air she was forever animated, always in motion.
While the beasts breathed heavily and their movements were slow
While their overlarge noses burned in the sun and they stood to attention
(Before nobody in particular), she spun and undulated like a dancer.
Her dance defied the sun, shamed the all-consuming light
That stood like blinding walls along the hazy molten streets.
She sang songs of the shadows and told stories of the night
(These were unheard of in the burning city of the beasts).
Her skin was soft to the touch and cool and white
She spoke a language in which there was no word for heat
(For she was a stranger from across the frozen seas).
The girl was courted by a lord of the desert but rejected him
She was wooed by a lizard-king and still she refused
She had suitors who breathed fire and mastered the hottest of winds
They tried to take her by force they tried to take her by ruse
They told her it was true love, she treated them all as whims
They tried to take her by surprise but she would not be seduced
So they put their heads together and plotted the fall of the nymph.
It was midday when they sought to carry out their infamy
Twelve of them tracked her down and attempted to subdue her
Yet she teased them as she danced. “You’ll have to kill me!”
And little did she know that was what they were plotting to do.
It wasn’t an evil act, it was a whim of men used to tyranny
They weren’t really evil men, but they were, it’s true,
A bunch of spoilt aristocrats maddened by lust and sunstroke.
So as twelve diverted her attention, another twelve lay in wait
In the shadow of the sun. As she came close they leapt
All aflame with lust, in the heat of passion insatiate
And as at last they held her in their grasp she quietly wept
While they fought about which one would seal her fate.
And high up in the sky where the moon was kept
There was a movement like a prison being opened.
The moon had heard the girl crying, the night had felt her tears
And they’d broken the spell of the city to come to her aid.
While the girl was hemmed in with sharp knives and leers
And her would-be suitors all had their daggers raised
All of a sudden came down the sum of all their fears
And night fell at last upon the heat and the haze
Of the burning city of nightmarish beasts.
Eh oui, toujours de l'Anglois. La langue francoise ne m'inspire que peu ces jours-ci. Cela dit, attendez-vous a bientot retrouver ici des bouts de mon projet en cours, l'Ethylicon
. Oui, ca parle d'alcool. Ca vous etonne hein?
