You, who like a ghost love and who give a name for the fog | final version

translator:  France - Arles

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I know that they were there, those of hundred years ago
In the time of the dance and the kites
They kissed the fingertips Of
The former ladies in the flesh of cream
In dress of lamé, a heart dotted with orchid
Behind tables baccarat, playing dice
Playing their fortune and betraying their faith
And ending guess what?
In the misery
Which we called decline in opium dens, lounges from Maxim’s
They left me a twig of the cherry tree which still grew in the Trocadéro
Before we dig the subway there?
Very indeed for a long time when crossed carriages
Which showing!
Well then, teufs, that is it thus?
It is now, the sappers in suit and the big-time gamblers
They had all the same another look!
They looked like less plouk
Maybe than they are not so far in the country of the shadows
That they left their smile with the red Moon In the nights of madness...
And of sex, and of...
Yes, yes, I understood, but they said sensual delight,
It is more attractive and warmer and more burning
And more violent
Then waltz or “coupé décalé” where is the difference
Let us live without waiting
One day will take us the kite
In the eternal round.

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