Le Mort Joyeux
Peste Noire
The Joyful Dead
In a greasy land full of snails
I want to dig myself a deep grave,
Where I can leisurely spread my old bones
And sleep in oblivion like a shark in the wave.
I hate wills and I hate tombs;
Instead of begging for a tear from the world,
Alive, I would rather invite the crows
To bleed all the ends of my vile carcass.
Oh worms! Black companions without ears and eyes,
See a joyful and free dead man coming to you;
Philosophers of debauchery, sons of decay,
Through my ruin go without remorse,
And tell me if there is still some torture
For this old soulless body dead among the dead!
