La science du cœur [English translation]

You despise your youth,

Your beautiful, youthful blond hair

Which falls down like life,

Near the motion of your eyelashes.

You despise those who, thanks to love,

Are no longer the same.

You prefer to say "I love you"

Through a grand bouquet of hate.

You aren't sure you're okay,

But you'll never admit it.

To have handiwork that's dreamed of,

That's all that counts here on earth.

The magicians of modern-day

Know how to lie well,

How to make beauty

In killing some memories.

Your friends are good, but you understand the evil of great knowledge,

That even they couldn't sense despite their dark strength.

All together, you play without any awkwardness, play the part of big, jaded kids

Who sway their heads to jolting, ghostly rhythms.

You think back to your loves,

To all those that you fucked.

The extent of how happy they seemed,

To have been able to taste you.

You had one glass too many,

But that was to balance out

The feelings provoked

By your graphic daydreams.

Getting reeling drunk is a simple remedy when your soul is nauseous

Faced with repeating problems imposed by life.

You dance at a loss for words with your friend, the one who can talk to you,

Reason with you when your tears come back marching like an army.

It's the only way that you can find to forget

The weight of loneliness which comes back to haunt you without fail.

You don't know why but even the motions dictated by your heart

Make it so that you feel forsaken in the middle of your fears.

Do you believe that one day, despite it all, you'll find the ability to love?

The only way to know is to try again

The science of the heart is an object of abstraction propelled

by the wishes of sad people to let themselves be touched.

That makes almost four days that you haven't slept;

In your head, with music resounding, you wake up in the night.

As if your pain had given birth to a symphony.

Is this a forewarning of madness to come?

You think back to your grandmother, you tell yourself that she really loved you.

You see once again her diaper filled, just to the point of overflowing.

The line is too thin between the beginning and the end,

But you resign yourself to death painlessly.

You look at your clothes, this spotless image

That you contemplate without wanting to, like a gifted little kid.

You tell yourself that one day, it's certain, this all will be obsolete,

That even the trophies you flaunt will burn down in an eternity,

That your body, having become flabby and weak, will have erased this all:

The traces of your youth, the too-fragile traces of one's prime...