Alexandre, my trembling wings.
Your dead are in the fields.
Our fight was stretched on the forest.
A wealth of shadow lies beneath the woodland hills.
An earth that is not mine.
A sky became a wave,
and suddenly the breeze -
azure floating on the hills.
Our music was not of a god or spirit, not of that colour of the sea.
My falafel from the seas and palm-trees.
This magic, the stars have been held for.
Mysterious prophets and priests return to temptation.
Sleepy and strong, lay the falafel.