At fifty six, seven, eight, it doesn't matter,
X street, if you knock on the door,
First one knock, then three others, they let you in
Alone and sometimes even accompanied.
If it's free, say you want forty four,
It's the room they call here `The Cleopatra'
Whose bed's rococo columns,
Are negros, carrying torches.
Among these naked slaves carved from ebony,
Who will be the silent witnesses to this scene,
While above the mirror reflects us,
Slowly I embrace Melody
At fifty six, seven, eight, it doesn't matter, X street, if you knock on the door, First one knock, then three others, they let you in Alone and sometimes even accompanied.
A servant, without speaking to you, leads you, Stairs, hallways with no end follow each other Decorated with baroque bronzes and gilded angels With Aphrodites and Salomés.
If it's free, say you want forty four, It's the room they call here `The Cleopatra' Whose bed's rococo columns, Are negros, carrying torches.
Among these naked slaves carved from ebony, Who will be the silent witnesses to this scene, While above the mirror reflects us, Slowly I embrace Melody
English Translation acknowledgment to A. Chabot