Afiches

Cruel on the poster,
the propaganda commands cruel on the poster.
And in the fetish of a paper poster,
illusion is sold, hearts are gambled.
And there you are selling the last shred of youth,
loading me with the cross again.
Cruel on the poster, your heart laughs...
makes you want to shoot yourself in a corner.
The night gives its tired skin to the curtain,
the brush wets the air and creates spring with it.

But what! Your things are here but you are not,
because you are something for everyone,
like a naked mannequin.
I fought by your side for you, my god, and lost you...
I gave you a home,
I was always poor but I gave you a home.
My smiles of fighting wore out,
fighting for you, bleeding for you.
Then the truth is scraping the palate with sand,
drowning without being able to scream that I gave you a home.
It was love's fault, makes you want to shoot yourself in a corner.
The night gives its tired skin to the curtain,
the brush wets the air and creates spring with it.

But what! Your things are here but you are not,
because you are something for everyone,
like a naked mannequin.
I fought by your side for you, my god,
and lost you...