What can this do
about knowing that summer looks like winter ?
I'll miss you.
What can this do
about knowing that we have a war,
that we have peace ?
What can this play at ?
What can this do ?
What can this do
so that you throw your head back,
so that I'm rung ?
What can this do
{with} all these parts of knees on air,
these lost plays ?
What can this play at ?
What can this do ?
After the route,
there's only a desert.
What can this do
about knowing that you have nothing better to do,
about listening to me ?
Oh, tell me what this can do
so that we forget the initial stuff,
so that we leave the lights open ?
What can this play at ?
What can this do ?
What can this do
so that this beauty exists on earth,
if we must burn down everything ?
Oh, tell me what this can do
so that there is a hibernal solistice
and an estival solistice ?
What can this play at ?
What can this do ?
Because after the route,
there's only a desert.
Go there and ask at the dust.
There is this light
that will never be extinguished,
like a Cerberus at the surroundings of a palace.
There is this light
that will never be extinguished,
like a lamppost,
like the lights of a long-term festival.
What can this do
so that there are coastal resorts
within my wine glass ?
Oh, tell me what this can do
so that I see you inside the air
or the encircled eyes ?
What can this play at ?
What can this do ?
Because after the route,
there's only a desert.
What can this play at ?
What can this do ?
Because after the route,
there's only a desert.