Une par une, les lignes s'accumulent
Mais des traits rien ne paraît
Et le dessein sombre dans le ridicule.

D'une noirceur lasse des temps indéfinis
Le graveur cherche sa matière.

Dans les recoins du monde archivé
Se serait-il égaré ?

La route est la même
Qui mène de la remembrance à l'oubli.

Your eyes ,
               the look .

Your voice ,
               the words .

Your lips ,
               the silhouette .

Your smile ,
               the light .

Your body ,
               the strength .

You ,
               the perfection .

Your love ,  
               the perdition .

Your waters are dark and treacherous.
Your waters are deep and lethal.

They seem calm yet are not.
They seem comforting yet are not.

And I dived carelessly, into your abyss.
And I plunged, into my damnation.

Seeking freshness, comfort and loving.
Seeking desire, passion and longing.

And in your murky, bitter waters
I drowned a million times.
I was spun, I was desecrated.
I was murdered, I was obliterated.
And I couldn't see a thing,
I couldn't learn a thing.

Yet my purpose was due,
I emerged anew.
Exhausted, devastated.
Utterly spent and violated.
Deceived, betrayed.
Ridiculed, humiliated.
But anew, and all alone.

My approach to you destroyed me,
and I made myself again.

The wrinkled fingers get *****
with the dusty objects.
The memories get *****
when it talks about the wins.

– Noise is big, but the heart is more.

I'm too old for the world
and the world is too old for me.
Don't think I'm deep man,
because I'm not, at least not like this.

– I'm bored therefore I write you.

Without me the machine doesn't express itself
and therefore it stops existing in hurry.
Oh let this pass!

– It's over, Vicent, it's over! You're gone and now I am.

It always sounds in vain,
trying to say their names with affection.
Oh please let them in peace!