Poil de lune

It's tough when on this earth
We’ve lived in happiness
To die sad and all alone
On the ruins of an old ass

Once in a virgin forest
I was planted on the slope
That a pure stream of piss splashed
And sometimes a trickle of blood

Fatal fate! A nubile finger
One evening wandered by
And with its moving phalanx
Rubbed, scraped, and tilled

I watched our remains drift away
On the river of passions
That springs from the balls
And gets lost in the assholes

Didn’t I see all the foreskins
Have free access with us
Even when they were Russian
Especially when they were French

I saw the phosphorescent old man
In a fleeting effort
Charge with his skinny stinger
Without managing to unload

I hoped at the last hour
To drown in bidet water
But I live on an ass
That, alas, never gets washed

- He could have talked much longer
When a brisk wind rushed in
Crushing, but not odorless
Launched him into eternity

Thus everything returns to the grave
Everything that lives, everything that was
Thus everything changes, thus everything falls
Illusions… And ass hair