Weapons, funny weapons, shinny weapons,
Weapons we have to clean often just for fun
And that we caress as if only for fun
The other, him who makes the devotes dream…
Weapons blue like the earth,
Weapons we have to keep buried deep in our souls
In the eyes, in the heart, in the arms of a woman,
We keep within ourselves as we keep a secret
Weapons in the secrecy of the days
Under the grass, in the sky and in the scriptures,
Weapons that make you dream late at night when you read,
And that turns speeches into poetry
Weapons, weapons, weapons,
And poets working for the triggers,
To light the last cigarettes
At the end of a French verse… bright as a tear
Weapons, weapons...weapons….