segunda-feira, outubro 24, 2011


The city lights are beckoning;
their sirens softly call.
All the fantacists and fetishist
are preparing for the ball.
We've been stuck here on the doorstep
with nothing to forsake
but we might as well be anyone's to take.

So, I give myself to strangers
like I gave myself to you.
The tenderness I felt has been replaced
by something new.
And in the end I can vaguely hear an outline of your call.
But I might as well be any words at all.

Every memory is sailing to the kingdom of your soul.
As you patiently await, I lose all sense of self-control.
For you were the lighthouse to my broken boat
but I left you behind
now I might as well
be anyone's to find.

(Charlotte Gainsbourg)