know of the the magicians who call to jets
In the jungle of New Guinea
They scrutinize the zenith coveting the guineas
That the pillage of freight would bring them
On the sea of coral in the wake of this
Machine those creatures not deprived
Of reason those Papuans wait for vapour
The wreck of the Vice-count and that of the Comet
And as their totem hasn't ever been able to bring down
To their feet neither a Boeing nor even a D.C. four
They dream of hijacks and of bird accidents
Those naive shipwreckers armed with blowguns
Who sacrifice to the cargo cult
By blowing toward the azur and the airplanes.
Where are you Melody and your wrecked body
Is it haunting the archipeligo where the sirens live
Or well attatched to the cargo plane whose siren
Of alarm has become silent, did you stay
Adrift on the currents have you already touched
Those bright corals of the Guinean costs
Where those indiginous magicians act in vain
Who still hope for smashed planes
Having nothing more to lose nor a God in whom to believe,
So that they give me meaningless loves
I, like them, I prayed to the night cargo planes
And I hold onto that hope of an air
Disaster that would bring Melody back to me
A minor turned away from the gravity of the stars.
know of the the magicians who call to jets In the jungle of New Guinea They scrutinize the zenith coveting the guineas That the pillage of freight would bring them
On the sea of coral in the wake of this Machine those creatures not deprived Of reason those Papuans wait for vapour The wreck of the Vice-count and that of the Comet
And as their totem hasn't ever been able to bring down To their feet neither a Boeing nor even a D.C. four They dream of hijacks and of bird accidents
Those naive shipwreckers armed with blowguns Who sacrifice to the cargo cult By blowing toward the azur and the airplanes.
Where are you Melody and your wrecked body Is it haunting the archipeligo where the sirens live Or well attatched to the cargo plane whose siren Of alarm has become silent, did you stay
Adrift on the currents have you already touched Those bright corals of the Guinean costs Where those indiginous magicians act in vain Who still hope for smashed planes
Having nothing more to lose nor a God in whom to believe, So that they give me meaningless loves I, like them, I prayed to the night cargo planes
And I hold onto that hope of an air Disaster that would bring Melody back to me A minor turned away from the gravity of the stars.
English Translation praise to A. Chabot