Individuals impassioned by their appearing We do not see any more that that Ignorer the third for their good being It is every man for himself It is that the joy? Not for me… Generation made happy by the spangles It is powder with the eyes To believe that while being provided with the good charts And the uniform in conformity with the laws of prestige One will accèdera with the giddinesses of the capacity One will accèdera with the vestiges of the corridor Which was as lately as yesterday, papered this simplicity Which made all the charm and the singularity of our bodies In the almost dead state one chose the vanity and the reign of a claim without similar The reign of the claim is connected With the one evening old sky of autumn demolishes these stars thus Covering black this field of corroded people, This batch of ruffled spirits… This field of people corroded by the fear badly of appearing Under daylight of glory Generation made happy by the spangles… The factitious artifices of lives It is powder with the eyes to plug and occult the gray thoughts Of these beautiful endimanchées mouths To be turned over and note that one became that a simple star a simple star among so much of others…
Individuals impassioned by their appearing We do not see any more that that Ignorer the third for their good being It is every man for himself It is that the joy? Not for me… Generation made happy by the spangles It is powder with the eyes To believe that while being provided with the good charts And the uniform in conformity with the laws of prestige One will accèdera with the giddinesses of the capacity One will accèdera with the vestiges of the corridor Which was as lately as yesterday, papered this simplicity Which made all the charm and the singularity of our bodies In the almost dead state one chose the vanity and the reign of a claim without similar The reign of the claim is connected With the one evening old sky of autumn demolishes these stars thus Covering black this field of corroded people, This batch of ruffled spirits… This field of people corroded by the fear badly of appearing Under daylight of glory Generation made happy by the spangles… The factitious artifices of lives It is powder with the eyes to plug and occult the gray thoughts Of these beautiful endimanchées mouths To be turned over and note that one became that a simple star a simple star among so much of others…
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