Cargo Culte [English translation]

I know of sorcerers who invoke the jets

in the jungle of New Guinea.

They scrutinize the zenith coveting the treasures

that would bring back to them the plunder of the freight.

On the Coral Sea to the passage of this

aircraft, these creatures not deprived

of reason, these Papuans expect for clouds of vapor

The damage of the Viscount and that of the Comet

And as their totem has never been able to shoot down

at their feet neither Boeing nor D.C. four.

They dream of hijacks and bird accidents

These naive wreckers armed with blowpipes,

who sacrifice thus to the cult of cargo

by blowing toward the azure and airplanes.

Where are you Melody and your broken body

does it haunts the archipeligo that populate the sirens?

Or attatched to the plane whose the siren

alarm was silenced, did you stay?

At random currents, have you already touched

these luminous corals of the Guinean coast

Where stir in vain these indigenous sorcerers

who still hope for broken planes

Having nothing more to lose or God in whom believe

So that they give me back my derisory loves

Me like them, I prayed the cargos of the night

And I keep this hope of an aerial disaster

which would bring me back Melody

Teen turned away from the gravity of the stars.

"- What's your name?

- Melody

- Melody what?

- Melody Nelson"