Chaplin [English translation]

He'd calibrate his gestures precisely

drawing his own stare with a charcoal stick

and a silent smile.

He rehearsed each motion

with the skill of someone who never had to learn

and with exactness.

Like an idea that gets entangled into his hair,

he flips over his tie, and tightens the knots

of a tiny tragicomic mustache.

From there onward, all of that now seems universal

from the cot to the last sun ray

chasing the plains.

From behind his old hat the inventor of laughter says nothing,

just whips out a stick from his sleeve,

makes balancing acts like us all.

He'd walk with dream-painted strides

with the rush of someone running without knowing where

while entangling the thread.

He'd emphasize every single snowflake,

he'd stomp on celluloids with his feet

with his great style.

When the submarine orchestra takes flight

words are superfluous as penguins are dancing.

Such scenes that in three, two, one... we too are thrown in.

From there onward, all of that now seems universal

from the cot to the last sun ray

chasing the plains.

From behind his old hat the inventor of laughter says nothing,

just whips out a stick from his sleeve,

makes balancing acts like us all.

From there onward, all of that now seems universal

from the cot to the last sun ray

chasing the plains.

From behind his old hat the inventor of laughter says nothing,

just whips out a stick from his sleeve,

makes balancing acts like us all.

Memories of Charles!