Le Plat Pays

With the North Sea as the last vague terrain
And the waves of dunes to stop the waves
And rocky waves that the tides surpass
And that forever have the heart at low tide
With infinitely more mists to come
With the east wind, listen to it hold
The flat country that is mine

With cathedrals as the only mountains
And black steeples like candy masts
Where stone devils shoot clouds
With the thread of days as the only journey
And rain paths as the only goodnight
With the west wind, listen to it want
The flat country that is mine

With a sky so low that a canal has hanged itself
With a sky so low that it makes humility
With a sky so gray that it must be forgiven
With the north wind that comes to split
With the north wind, listen to it crack
The flat country that is mine

With Italy descending the Scheldt
With Frida the blonde when she becomes Margot
When the sons of November return to us in May
When the plain is smoking and trembling under July
When the wind is laughter, when the wind is wheat
When the wind is south, listen to it sing
The flat country that is mine