I and my colleague got out of our car,
We, the two men with a trench coat wrapped around us,
Walked down to the alley on that cloudy day,
A ****** scene it was, across the river bed,
Where once the pearly white swans swam.

There lied a dead young woman with a stab in her chest,
Through the heart,
With luscious red hair lied a beauty,
That enamors a thousand souls,
A blooming red rose aside her right arm,
A necklace made of scallops around her neck.

A blonde winged child crying profusely
With an empty quiver around his back,
While whistling doves hovered over us,  
And a purse containing letters from the shepherds,
And a commander.

And a man and a woman standing
Besides the body, were crying
And with sadness in their voice,
Saying about how without her
They will forget how to love in time,
And will never be loved anymore.

In such wailing times,
All I could do was to shed some pennies,
And I said them here are pennies,
To plant some myrtles in her memories,
Across these riverbeds,
And hope the swans swim in these rivers once again.

The doors slid aside at Métro 1,
A interminable tube driven by an inhumane robot,
To take hundreds to their lovers, their homes, their offices.

A girl fantasying about her lover, A man scathe in love,
An old woman enamored with The Price of Salt,
facing the young man with a Kindle spirit.

A foreign girl with passion for the city,
slides through the crowd,
And an indigenous man wished he was somewhere else than here.
At the next stop a man bids a farewell kiss to her girlfriend.
And in comes a middle-aged couple,
Enters in with a hatred for one another.

I stood for my final stop,
the doors slid aside,
and I got down.

A couple of goodbye words to these swaths of strangers,
who color my dark life with smiles and tears.
"Farewell strangers, I shall meet you another day at another time."

A sweet shadow of emptiness,
Will plague us, Will break us,
Riding through those sunny roads with,
Pennies of innocence in our pockets
Flipping as we go through the rigid world we were plunged into,
Creating memories as we go, hoping to replace the ones with neglect,
We see those kisses along side river banks,
And the heart-held hugs at Châtelet–Les Halles station by strangers.
Though these strange depths of desires,
We wished to be loved, and to love.

C'était le jour de l'amour,
Mais c'est le jour de la guerre,
Il faut qu’on transforme,
Nos larmes en l'armes.

Love, love, fatal love,
It can play hideous tricks on your brain,
But I rather be miserable and suffering in love,
Than to be alone and unloved.

Silent as a night you came,
Underneath a purple lit neon café I saw,
Like those fireflies you lit the spectral night,
And I saw something beautiful through your sadness,
Shaded my heart with those moonlit sparkles in your eyes.
A desire to hold you in my hands,
A piece of warmth perhaps against those cold rushing winds,
A tune, a key, a note to paint a melody against the dark canvas,
A chance for a  love to blossom even for a night,
To blossom the flower underneath your sad eternal nights.