Some weapons, nice ones, shiny ones
Ones you have to clean often for the pleasure
& you have to caress as for the pleasure
The other, the one that makes dream the communicants
Some weapons blue like the earth
Some you have to keep warm deep in the soul
In the eyes, in the heart, in the arms of a woman
You keep deep in yourself like you keep a mystery
Some you have to keep warm deep in the soul
In the eyes, in the heart, in the arms of a woman
You keep deep in yourself like you keep a mystery
Weapons, at secret of the days
Under the grass, in the sky & in the writing
Some that make you dream very late in the readings
& put poetry into the speeches
Weapons, weapons, weapons
& some poets on the trigger
To light the fire on the last cigarettes
At the end of a French vers, shinning like a tear