Line 9
The last one
Has to go
Men, Women, Beasts
And whatnots
So I listen to
Last train’s
I hear an old friend
Fuck you
Tchikatchick, Tchikatchick
Going nowhere
Never born
Line 9
Tchikatchick, Tchikatchick

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Paris, the day after, I don’t care for your prayers

This morning, there was a strange silence in my street, and it didn’t bode well. Indeed, I live in Paris’ near suburb and today should have been run here a semi-marathon. Every year, on this particular Sunday, I’m awaken early by a rock band playing loudly to encourage all participants. This morning, within this deafening silence, I could hear the chimes of St Cloud’s church, however far it is. What a symbol! What sadness!

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Wishful thinking

There she was
Alone I could tell
Going her way
Late on Line 9
Looking friendly
Pretty enough
For some reason
I felt that
Out of all possible worlds
I could love her
Like some birds never miss
But I didn’t dare
Talk to her
She got off
At Bonne Nouvelle
Having never seen me